


do you got room for one more troubled soul?

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Clexa, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Lexa doesnt die, Slow Burn, Weekly Updates, clarke and lexa - Freeform, extra clexa octaven on the side, i wasnt lying, jroth is a rat, literally the slowest burn ever, so slow, trapped in an elevator au kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Clarke needs shelter. Lexa provides, unwillingly. 
or, au in which Clarke and Lexa are both alive on Earth before the nuclear bombs.
if you like torturously slow burn fics, this might be for you.
Updates on Monday!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey people of the internet! This is my first fanfic in a while so go easy on me if I'm rusty... This first chapter is a little slow only because I had to find a way to get our favorite star-crossed lovers together and this is the only way I could think of. Stick with me and it will (hopefully) get better!

The news of Earth's impending doom hung heavily over Clarke as she packed every last piece of food in her house into a sack. Every other resident of her small town had already done the same and began their search for a shelter that would withstand a dozen or so nuclear bombs. Many left with their families to get to the nearest army base, which were considered the safest places to reside during the upcoming apocalypse. After the global recommendation for everyone to take shelter, Clarke's, once mildly-populated, town succumbed to emptiness and silence. Clarke, however, stayed. She had no family or friends to tag along with, and no idea where to go. As army bases started to permanently close their doors, Clarke's only option was to fly out of state to search for one, but that plan proved to be worthless, considering plane ticket prices were rapidly climbing. Being a college drop-out who works at a fast-food chain, Clarke couldn't pay for a ticket, had she wanted to. She didn't want to leave, though. Every part of her felt perfectly content with living out her, possibly last few days alone. Or at least, that's what she told herself.

Still, she spent every waking moment searching for a sturdy looking structure that would miraculously survive the explosions. She never found any.

This day started no different from the rest; she woke up and brewed coffee as if the day was completely normal and the world wasn't on the verge of ending. When she turned on the small television in her apartment, it played the same automated message that it had been playing, day in and day out, for the past three days. It went something along the lines of "take shelter now and if you haven't, you're basically wishing a fiery, painful death upon yourself" and never failed to make Clarke miserable about the situation she was in. Despite this, she kept it on all day as if it was motivating her to go out and do _something_ to help herself.

After sipping her coffee and staring at the television screen as if it was about to say something different, she decided to grab her backpack filled with food and head out to search for shelter, again. Her apartment complex was eerily quiet as she left her home and descended a few flights of stairs to get to the ground level. She walked out of the vacant lobby and over to the bike stand that held her old, worn bicycle. She hadn't bothered to lock it up the night before, considering there was no one there to steal it.

She had spent the last few days biking through neighborhoods and planned to spend this day doing the same. The morning air was colder than usual and held a thick humidity, telling Clarke that winter was approaching. She wondered if she would be alive long enough to see another winter. The thought wasn't contemplated for long before she pulled her bike from the rack and climbed on it.

The streets were littered with trash and debris as if a tornado had blown through and swept everything away, including the people. Clarke didn't understand how people could just get up and leave in an instant. She had passed by countless houses with lights still on, or even a TV still playing the automated message. People had, quite literally, dropped everything and left, even if that meant racking up a hefty electric bill.

There was a park, a few lots away from Clarke's apartment complex, that she passed every day on her hunt for shelter. The park was beautifully red and orange, as it was every fall, and Clarke couldn't stop herself from glancing at it longingly as she passed. The leaves had just started to fall, making the trees look patchy and coloring the ground with bright yellows and contrastingly brown underbrush. Squirrels roamed freely through the trees, unfazed by the sudden drop in human population. Clarke wondered what would happen to the squirrels after the bombs, but swiftly averted her thoughts to a less depressing topic.

Past the park were more buildings, such as restaurants and offices. Clarke reminded herself to come back to them for more food if she ever found a place to stay. She rode by her favorite café and daydreamed about her favorite coffee and what she would give to have just one more cup. She made another mental note to raid the café, too.

Soon the buildings became fewer and farther in between, until the streets split off into more streets, and those streets led to neighborhoods. Clarke had already combed through the communities, but the thoroughness of her search always hung questioningly over her. Still, she kept biking until she was in unfamiliar territory. She assumed that she had arrived in a not-so-good part of town. Dirt roads twisted and turned in every direction, leading to who knows where. The paths were surrounded with overgrown grasses and trees, making it seem as if they would lead into a forest-like land. Clarke turned down one of the roads, hoping to find a house at the end of the trail.

The shade from the trees mixed with the cold of the air and the silence put Clarke on edge. She couldn't help but realize that too many scary movies had been made in this exact type of location. She kept going, though, holding onto the hope that maybe even serial killers had taken shelter. The path became more narrow and didn't even look wide enough for a car to fit through, telling Clarke there probably wasn't a house anywhere. But what if there was? Continuing forward, she had come to realize that she had forgotten which way she came from and which way she was supposed to be going.

She slowed her pedaling, letting one shoe drag along the dirt to stop her bike from moving further, and looked around. She was lost. Turning her head to look behind her, she saw that the many twists in the path had left her unable to recall which ones to take to get back. Panic set in for a split second before Clarke forced herself to calm down.

"Just retrace your steps," she said aloud, quiet enough for just herself to hear it. She got off her bike and decided to walk it alongside her, turning to to face the way she had come from (or at least the way she _thought_ she came from). Her constant second guessing kept her from feeling confident about the correct road to take. Each turn she took seemed to make the path smaller and smaller until it tapered off into endless stretches of forest. Yeah, definitely lost.

In frustration, she threw her bike from her grip, watching it fall into the dirt. She found a large oak tree to sit against and took off her backpack to get something to eat. _You just need some brain food. Then you'll be able to find your way out._ She assured herself, unzipping the bag and pulling out a couple granola bars. She ripped open the packaging and practically shoved the bar into her mouth, fully realizing how hungry she was.

The first bar was gone in a matter of seconds, and the next one followed shortly after. She reached into the sack again and felt her hand brush over her cell phone. She reluctantly grabbed it and clicked it on, only having one new notification. It wasn't a text or a call. Instead, it was an error message, telling her that she was no longer connected to a network. She had known the day would come eventually that phones stopped being able to make calls, but the abruptness of it all left Clarke with a pit of guilt in her stomach. She unlocked the screen and frantically clicked on her messages, opening the recent conversation with her mom-- the one that she had yet to respond to.

The worried texts from her mom were all asking where she was, if she was okay, and telling her to move back in so they could be together during all of this. Clarke had meant to respond-- she really had, but after not speaking to her mom in months, she found it hard to find the right words to say. And now she didn't have the chance to type them, even if she wanted to. The regret was overwhelming, forming tears in the corners of her eyes and blurring her vision. Despite the notification she had just seen, she typed out a short message to her mother, hoping, _begging_ for it to go through. A blue line started to move across the top of her screen, telling her it had started sending, but as quickly as the blue line appeared, it was gone and replaced itself with a bright red exclamation mark next to the text. _Message not sent._

Clarke's face grew red from anger, mostly at herself, but also at the stupid bombs that were going to crash into the Earth any day now. Her hand squeezed around her phone, threatening to crush it in her palm. Desperate to get the device away from her, she chucked it at a tree trunk and watched it shatter into splintering glass and metal. Admittedly, it was a foolish idea, but why would she need a phone that didn't work anymore?

She blinked a few tears from her eyes and looked down at the bag in her lap. The bag of food. Food that she was supposed to be eating sparingly. But in that moment, she couldn't care less about the need to save food. For all she knew, she could be permanently lost in this forest, without shelter. What was the harm in enjoying herself while she had the chance? She carelessly dipped her hand back into the bag and pulled out a packaged snack cake. She had been eating them since she was little and still loved everything about them. Needless to say, the treat was gone in seconds and she had no intention to stop eating.

After consuming an embarrassing amount of sweets and junk food, she reached back into the bag, telling herself for the umpteenth time that this would be her last one. However, before she could pull out anything, the sound of crunching leaves broke her from her binging. She looked up, expecting to see some animal that had been drawn to her from the smell of food, but instead, she saw a crossbow aiming straight at her forehead. Her eyes widened, not even noticing the person holding it.

She didn't even think crossbows were real. She had always assumed they were just made up weapons used specifically for television shows, and seeing one pointing at her left her wishing she was right about her previous assumptions.

Instinctively, she removed her hands from the bag and slowly raised them above her head, hoping to dissuade the person from firing the weapon.

The first words to come from the figure seemed to be a different language (or perhaps fear had made her delirious; she wasn't sure which one was more likely). The voice was womanly, prompting Clarke to look a few inches above to arrow at the green eyes and dark brown hair that held the weapon. Clarke could feel every muscle in her body going stiff. There was a human standing in front of her. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating, thinking that there couldn't _possibly_ be anyone left besides her.

She must have been lost in thought for too long, because the rough voice spoke again. The words were still lost to Clarke, confirming that the girl had to be speaking a different language. Clarke's arms began to shake above her as she wondered how the _hell_ she would convince the girl to not shoot her, without being able to talk to her.

The crossbow came up to the stranger's eye, as if she was preparing to fire, and Clarke's heart jumped, trying to think of a solution before the girl got too impatient. Clarke raised her hands higher, crossing her arms over her face as if they could shield the arrow from hitting her. Her arms blocked her vision, causing her to flinch when she heard the girl step closer.

Within a few seconds, the brunette was standing right in front of her, towering over her with a mischievous look on her face. Clarke turned her head away from the weapon, which was still aiming ominously at her forehead. Her cheek brushed gently against the bark of the tree she was sitting against, preventing her from backing up any farther in attempt to get out of her current situation.

From the corner of her eye, Clarke could see one hand leave the weapon and reach down to Clarke's bag. Clarke had half a mind to grab her bag and pull it closer to herself, but the panic running through her had seemingly paralyzed her. The girl's hand wrapped around the backpack strap and tugged it from Clarke's lap. She slung it over her shoulder, allowing Clarke to catch a glimpse of a fading tattoo on the upper half of her arm.

The thief backed away, still sporting a look that Clarke could only describe as a mix of malice and complacency. Clarke could only imagine the "deer-caught-in-headlights" look covering her own face. She assumed that the mysterious girl noticed this dumbfounded expression, considering the smallest smirk that appeared on her lips before she turned and ran off, taking the last of Clarke's food with her.

Part of Clarke wanted to go after the girl (she knew she could catch up if she used her bike), but the other part of her didn't see the point in putting herself in danger just for some food. Finally lowering her hands from her face, she let out a shaky breath that she was unaware of holding and tried to make sense of the events that had just taken place.

No food, no shelter, no phone, _and_ she was lost. She forced a few more calming breaths before slowly standing up and pulling her bike from the dirt. The girl's face occupied her thoughts, still confusing her more with each passing second.

Where had the girl come from? Why was she hiding in a forest when she should be seeking shelter?

_Unless her shelter is somewhere in the forest._

Suddenly, Clarke's eyes lit up with inspiration. If she could find where that bag-stealing girl was headed, it should theoretically lead her to some sort of shelter. Foolishly ditching her plan to get back to her own house, she flipped her bike around and pushed it forward, in the direction that the girl ran off.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._ The voice in her head chanted with each step she took. She was well aware of the many faults in her plan, but continued anyways, having no other ideas. She reckoned that the plan couldn't make things any worse, considering she was already in a worst-case-scenario.

_You could catch up to her and end up with an arrow in your skull._

Okay, maybe things could get worse but Clarke forced that thought from her head.

Within a few minutes of walking, the trails had started to widen again, instilling a hopeful feeling in her chest. This sensation quickly dissipated, however, when she noticed how overwhelming the land in front of her was. There were countless different routes to take and those paths split into dozens more, making Clarke wonder if she was just inside one, big maze.

After a couple hours of walking and convincing herself that she would find shelter any minute, Clarke was close to giving up. The sun was just starting to set and Clarke had passed so many trees, she wondered if she would ever see anything besides them again.

A shining object drew her out of her thoughts and made excitement bubble up inside her. She leaned her bike against a trunk to investigate. Clarke squatted down and brushed away some dirt and leaves, only to have her hopes ripped from inside her when she saw what the shiny item was.

The glimmering was from a large piece of glass, and under that piece of glass was a familiar piece of metal that Clarke recognized to be her phone.

She'd already been here. Perhaps more than once.

The broken glass compelled her to actually give up. She dropped to the ground and buried her head in her hands, trying her best not to scream out in anger. She rubbed her eyes in exhaustion and looked at the sky to see that it was getting late. The throbbing in her legs made sleep sound tempting and the irritation building inside her justified a break.

For the first few minutes, Clarke just stared blankly, consumed by her own thoughts. But soon, her eyes felt heavy, both from the tears she had shed earlier and the fatigue taking over her. She could continue to search for the road that led back to her house, but if her previous experience was an indication of how that would go, she didn't want to waste the energy. But did she really want to sleep outside? She was already laying down before she thought of her answer to the question.

The ground was extremely uncomfortable (even when she piled leaves into pillows to support her head) and she was reminded of this discomfort each time she rolled over and felt dull aches in her back and neck. By the time she was falling asleep, the space around her had become darker and colder, making Clarke wish for the comfort of her bed and the warm blankets that were on it.

She did fall asleep eventually, though. It wasn't very deep and each time she woke up she felt more uncomfortable than the time before, but nonetheless, it was sleep.

* * *

Clarke's eyes snapped open earlier than they should have, indicating that something had awoken her. She was proven correct in her thinking when she heard the distant sound of leaves crunching.

Bolting upright, Clarke scooted against the large base of a tree as if it would protect her from whatever was drawing near. The footsteps were almost certainly from a human. What was _another_ person doing out in the forest?

_Unless it's not_ another _human._

Clarke couldn't bring herself to believe that she would run into the same girl twice in one day. Only did she believe it when she saw a familiar head of brown (and the infamous crossbow) walking towards her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Bolting upright, Clarke scooted against the large base of a tree as if it would protect her from whatever was drawing near. The footsteps were almost certainly from a human. What was another person doing out in the forest? 
> 
> Unless it's not another human. 
> 
> Clarke couldn't bring herself to believe that she would run into the same girl twice in one day. Only did she believe it when she saw a familiar head of brown walking towards her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, I nervously present chapter two which had the potential to be uploaded waaaay earlier if it weren't for the fact that I rewrote it 3 times. Probably would have done it a fourth time but i refused to be late on a deadline i set for myself... SO, enjoy the last of the "slow going" chapters and thanks to those who have read and left feedback so far! Enjoy!

Had Clarke known she would run into the same, especially intimidating brunette, she would have made a better attempt at finding her way home.

Clarke immediately recognized the girl's daunting crossbow and soon after identified the bag on her back to be the one she had stolen from Clarke the previous day. If there was any room left in her to feel anything other than fear, she would have felt anger, but the terror evoked from the weapon swinging in the girl's grasp filled that gap.

When their eyes met, Clarke could see the girl's expression harden in what she placed to be anger. Her heavy boots stomped closer to Clarke and only stopped when they were a few feet away. Again, Clarke found the thief towering above her, provoking her to scramble to her feet just to decrease the height difference. Still, the girl was the slightest bit taller than Clarke, making her feel inferior (and not any less fearful of the intense glare on the brunette's face). She gripped onto the tree behind her, hoping it would offer her a sense of safety. It didn't.

When the girl spoke, Clarke was not surprised when she didn't understand the words. What surprised her more was that the girl was still attempting to communicate despite Clarke's obvious confusion.

Clarke thought about turning and running but something told her that an arrow could shoot a lot faster than she could run and she did not want to find out if she was correct. Before she had a chance to weigh any other options, the brunette was speaking again, but this time, the words were questioning, as if she was interrogating Clarke. Trying to get the point across that she didn't understand, Clarke shook her head and watched the girl's eyes narrow.

Clarke pondered momentarily on what the brunette had asked, wondering if shaking her head had answered the question in a way that upset the already angered girl. Thankfully, she relaxed after a moment.

Once again, she began to talk, much less demanding than before, apparently coming to a realization. Clarke gripped the tree harder in anticipation.

"Why are you still here?"

The question caught Clarke off guard, half from the tone she asked it in, and half from the fact that it was in English instead of the unknown language. The tone had regained its demanding nature, corresponding with the brunette's furrowed brows and gritted teeth. In the moment, Clarke realized how different this girl looked from anyone she had seen around town-- not that she would remember, it had been so long. But still, this girl had a strange pretense about her that Clarke could not put her finger on.

Her skin was tanned--but not the type of dark skin that most are born with. This tan was acquired from long hours spent in the sun. Her hair was intricately braided and styled to create one fluid design, but the braids had started to come undone, making the girl's hair frizzy and overall messy. She had peculiar markings on her shoulders and arms, which were surprisingly exposed despite the chilly weather. Clarke had never seen anyone like this around her town, only adding to the perplexity of the brunette and the current situation.

Clarke's eyes trailed off to the crossbow, reminding her that she hadn't yet answered the question she was asked. When she returned her gaze back to the girl's face, there was an obvious look of impatience staring back at her. Clarke opened her mouth to speak, but the incessant questions buzzing through her mind made it hard to form any coherent words. She watched as the brunette lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. The look was enough to prompt a response from Clarke (and form a knot in her stomach).

"I'm lost," Clarke croaked out, sounding far more pathetic than she had intended. The girl tilted her chin back up in understanding but didn't reply. Clarke pondered momentarily on the amount of English that the girl may or may not know before speaking again. "And now I have no food, thanks to you." Clarke continued, mustering a slight attitude, but overall still sounding fearful.

The girl readjusted the crossbow in her hand, evoking a flinch from Clarke (which seemed to be what the girl had wanted).

"You're foolish for trespassing into unknown territory alone." Her eyes flickered down to Clarke's bike, then back to Clarke. "You're even more foolish for biking through a forest when you should be taking shelter." She (who was still sporting the stolen backpack; Clarke hadn't forgotten) spat, sounding disgusted at Clarke's decisions as if they affected her. Clarke sighed heavily and looked at her tattered shoes, desperate to avoid eye contact and hide the slight blush skimming her face.

_ As if I didn't know... _

"I'm still working on it." She muttered, loosening her grip on the tree behind her. She could hear the girl snort, furthering the redness in her cheeks.

"Still looking?" She confirmed, her eyebrows raised, telling Clarke that the statement sounded unrealistic to her, too. She nodded anyways.

The brunette sighed and tapped the weapon on her leg, making Clarke flinch, again (she was starting to think this girl got pleasure out of her weakness). "You didn't get very far." She pointed out, deepening Clarke's embarrassment. Unable to think of a fit response to the statement, Clarke remained silent. The silence lasted a few seconds before the brunette sighed again and turned to face away from Clarke. She lifted her hand and shielded the morning sun from her eyes, scanning the trees in front of her.

"Take this path. Don't make any turns. It should lead you back to the roads, if I remember correctly." The girl motioned to a slim trail and turned back to face Clarke.

Clarke's jaw slackened in surprise, confused as to why the girl (who had just robbed her a day before) was offering her help. She almost let a smile of gratitude come to her face, but caught sight of her backpack and quickly resumed her neutral expression.

"Could I have my stuff back, now?" Clarke asked, feeling gutsy, but the way the girl's hands squeezed shut at the question made her regret it. The brunette sighed and stepped closer, wriggling the backpack off her shoulder and holding it out for Clarke to take. "I don't need it, anyways." She grumbled. Clarke snatched it from her fingers and clutched it to her chest, immediately noticing how much lighter it was.

"Can I have the food back, too?" She pressed, doing her best to keep her voice from portraying fear. The girl scoffed and turned to start walking in the opposite direction.

"Leave now, before I change my mind."

Clarke pulled the straps of her noticeably lighter bag over her arm without a moments hesitation and stood up her bike. The girl had already started to walk away by the time Clarke was on her bike and pedaling down the trail that she had been pointed down.

The trees started to clear and after about half an hour of biking, Clarke could see the road. An accidental smile came to her face as her tire rolled onto the pavement. No food, no shelter, but at least she wasn't lost anymore.

Once she was out of the forest, it seemed to be the only thing that occupied her mind. She had deduced that the brunette must have shelter in the forest, despite the fact that she was unable to find it. If she did have a place to stay, was she alone? Who else was staying with her? What language was she speaking and why didn't sound like anything she had ever heard before?

She forced the questions from her head when she arrived back in the nicer part of town. She slowed her pace when her favorite café came into view. Remembering her lack of food and slight hunger building in her stomach, she pulled onto the sidewalk and brought her bike to a stop.

The door was surprisingly unlocked, allowing Clarke to easily get inside. The café was dark, but from what Clarke could see, the place had already been raided. Empty cups and napkins littered the floor and gave off a depressing vibe that sent chills up Clarke's neck.

After her encounter with the brunette and the crossbow, Clarke found herself wishing she had some sort of weapon to protect herself with. She did a quick visual sweep of the restaurant, and once she was sure that no one else was inside, she flicked on a light switch and started her search for food.

Behind the service counter were a few stale pastries that Clarke took without apprehension. Had it been a few days ago, when she had a full bag of food, she would have left the desserts to mold, but her current desperation meant she couldn't pass up any opportunity for food.

She nibbled on one of the pastries, sparingly, as she continued rummaging through cabinets and closets, rarely discovering anything more than a few crumbs. At one point she found a tub of coffee beans that she gladly took, deciding that coffee beans had caffeine, and caffeine was energy, and she would need energy if she was going to survive on such little amounts of food.

When she was sure that all the nooks and crannies had been looked over, she exited the coffee shop, staring down at her pitifully, empty backpack.

_ Maybe the bombs will miss. _

Clarke pulled her bag over her shoulder and rubbed her tired eyes, hoping that when she pulled her hands away, she would be safely in bed, as if the last twenty-four hours had been a dream-- a nightmare-- that she would be able to laugh about one day.

When she  _ did _ pull her hands away, she was still standing on the sidewalk.

Clarke couldn't help but let her mind wander back to the brunette she had run into. Anger brewed inside her when she remembered that the girl was the reason she was currently starving.

She looked towards the sky and saw there were at least a few hours of daylight left, prompting her to check a few more restaurants and buildings for scraps and anything else that could be useful.

Night finally began it's fall on Clarke's town and she had made little progress in her search for resources. Feeling defeated, she made her way back to her dingy apartment complex and leaned her bike against the rack, unable to bother herself with locking it up.

_ At least you're not sleeping outside tonight. _ She thought as she ascended her staircase, trying her best to find something-- _ anything _ \--to be thankful for. She was afraid that if she didn't have something positive to keep her mind on, she would simply give up and spend the last of her days curled up in bed with a nice book or a movie. The thought didn't sound as bad as it felt, almost pushing Clarke to pull out her copy of  _ The Princess Bride  _ and start watching it. She refrained, however, deciding to tune into her  _ favorite _ automated message--note the sarcasm.

The television buzzed to life and presented the bright blue screen with the latest news on the upcoming disaster. It hadn't changed in days and Clarke wasn't sure if it ever would, but she forced herself to listen to the message twenty times--she counted-- before moving on to doing something else.

She wandered over to the nightstand in her room and ran her fingers over the notebook on the surface. She knew the contents of the journal were pictures she had drawn over the past few years. She flicked open the cover and sighed at the first picture; a lake scene. She missed being able to relax on a park bench and draw what she saw, without a care in the world. Things had obviously changed since then. She grabbed the book and a few sketching pencils, anyways, before retiring to her bed and opening the notebook to a blank page.

She held the pencil over the page, contemplating if she would draw what her subconscious had already decided. The pencil tapped the page only to be jerked back in an instant, thanks to Clarke's indecisiveness.

Finally giving in, she started drawing a sharp jawline and messy braids, unable to get the image from her mind. She couldn't do the braids justice, finding it hard to recreate the elaborate style, but she was sure that she had nailed the face structure and angry scowl that the girl seemed to always hold.

Clarke wasn't sure what compelled her to sketch the face, but it didn't surprise her that she wanted to. She had a habit of putting to paper what her mind couldn't free itself from. Today just happened to be an intimidating brunette with the knack for stealing.

Just as Clarke started recreating the tattoo that had been on the girl's shoulder, she heard the buzz of silence replace the sound of the automated voice on her TV. She set her drawing aside and left to her living room to investigate.

The screen had seemingly frozen, shining neon blue through her dimly lit apartment. Clarke tilted her head at the sight, wondering what had caused the sudden end of the message.

She didn't have long to ponder the question before a blaring alarm filled the speakers, making Clarke jump back in surprise. The screen image had replaced itself with a new, screaming red picture that only furthered Clarke's fear in the sudden alarm. For a few moments, she stared at the screen, preceding her decision that the alarm could not mean anything good.

If her instincts were correct, the alarm could only mean one thing.

Still on her mind, she remembered the girl, and hurried back to her room for her bag. If the bombs were truly coming (or already here), Clarke needed to leave. Quickly.

She grabbed the backpack and saw her notebook, staring at it for a few seconds before stowing it inside the bag. She pulled open her fridge and grabbed the last of her water bottles, before scrambling out her door and back down the stairs, neglecting to turn off her noisy television.

She cursed herself audibly as she pulled her bike from the bars and jumped on, knowing her idea was questionable and far from fool-proof.

Still, she biked past the buildings and neighborhoods in record time, arriving at her destination before she had time to decide what the rest of her plan consisted of. She could hear other TVs playing the absurdly loud alarm, only adding to the hopeless feeling in her gut.

She hopped off her bike when she came to a familiar trail, running down it in hopes of catching sight of a particular brown head of hair. After running for quite some time, she stopped and checked her surroundings, her chest heaving in exhaustion. A memorable sense of being lost reclaimed her, reminding her of the day before when she had been in that exact position.

Clarke's heart still thumped wildly behind her ribs and before she had a chance to decide, she was calling out; yelling for help. The screams felt useless but she continued anyways, shouting the same word over and over until her throat was raw and her face was wet with tears she hadn't known were falling down her cheeks.

Seconds passed like minutes, dragging on endlessly as Clarke wandered around, still yelling, despite her diminishing voice. She had long since abandoned her bike in the dirt, just focusing on her hope of finding the brunette from earlier.

Just as she was ready to give up, a hand roughly gripped her shoulder and spun her around, instantly shutting her up. Her eyes couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

It was the girl. The one that had taken her supplies, threatened her with a crossbow, and left her to sleep outside, but something about her looked different, now. Her face showed concern, probably for her own life and not at all for Clarke's, and she wasn't holding the well-known weapon, as if she had known she wouldn't need to use it.

When Clarke fully comprehended what was happening, she couldn't help but feel incredibly embarrassed. Her red, tear-stained cheeks and trembling hands probably looked absolutely pathetic, but at this point it shouldn't have been a shock to the brunette. After all, she had already seen weakness in Clarke twice before then.

The concern on the girl's face vanished in seconds and replaced itself with her notorious look of pure annoyance.

"You just don't _learn_ , do you?" She growled, dropping her hand from Clarke's shoulder and running it through an untied section of her hair. Clarke wiped her face and cleared her throat, embarrassment and anger making her regret the plan completely.

"I need somewhere to stay." Clarke's voice cracked when she spoke, the sound muffled by her snotty nose. The girl looked amazed by this statement, probably wondering why Clarke thought she would care. But when she realized what Clarke meant by the words, her face twisted in confusion, then fury, again.

Their eyes locked in a stare down, both too stubborn to be the first to look away. Clarke, however, was left triumphant when the brunette groaned loudly and ran another hand through her hair. She turned and started walking away, only to stop and face Clarke after a few steps.

"Don't slow me down."

It was obvious that the command was said through gritted teeth even though Clarke couldn't see her face when she said it. Still, she felt relief wash over her and an involuntary smile spread across her lips.

Clarke ran to catch up with the girl, desperate to not ruin the advantage she had just gained. "I promise you won't regret this." She assured her, seeing the girl's lip twitch in agitation at the promise.

"Stop talking or I  _ will _ regret it."

Clarke gladly walked in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! The two lovebirds are together! I hope you enjoyed Clarke's dorkiness as much as I enjoyed writing it. Don't worry, Lexa's a dork too, she's just MUCH better at hiding it. Let me know what you think! Also, merry late Christmas to those who celebrate it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Clarke ran to catch up with the girl, desperate to not ruin the advantage she had just gained. "I promise you won't regret this." She assured her, seeing the girl's lip twitch in agitation at the promise. 
> 
> "Stop talking or I will regret it." 
> 
> Clarke gladly walked in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, readers! Hope this update is a good start to your 2017! Let me know what you think and thank you to everyone that has been reading and commenting thus far.

Walking behind the thief girl was almost as awkward as standing in front of her. Besides the fact that Clarke couldn't see the girl's face, the experiences were quite similar. Clarke could still see her hands clench in anger every few seconds-- hell, she could practically see the smoke rising from the brunette's ears. The swift stride they walked with only added to the tension in the air; each step serving as a reminder of the bombs that were probably hurdling towards Earth by now. It was obvious that Clarke was not going to be welcomed warmly into the hidden shelter (wherever it was), which made the position she was in even more perplexing. The girl was helping Clarke, but seemed as if she hated the fact that she had agreed to it.

Unfortunately, Clarke wasn't sure if she cared. After all, she was gaining shelter, even if that meant the shelter would be shared with a particularly strange brunette.

_I guess you will be getting that food back._ Clarke let a tiny smile curve through her lips until the girl started to slow down. Clarke took in her current surroundings, sure that she had passed through the same place when she was lost.

"Where's your place?" Clarke finally broke the silence, not seeing a house of any sort in sight.

"Who said I had one?" The brunette spoke, stopping her pace completely. Something told Clarke those were purely empty words. Their earlier conversation had confirmed that. Clarke rolled her eyes at the snarky question, staring at the underbrush below her to avoid the girl's glances.

Surprisingly, the girl didn't continue to walk. Instead, she used her heavy shoes to brush away a non-suspicious pile of leaves while simultaneously reaching into her pocket and revealing a set of two keys. Clarke watched, puzzled by the unorthodox actions. The confusion lingered until streaks of metal began to peak through the leaves being brushed away.

_ Oh. _

The reason Clarke hadn't been able to find the shelter on the previous day suddenly became clear. The shelter wasn't in plain sight.

The metal door in the dirt was sealed with a lock that Clarke assumed was unlocked by one of the two keys. The girl squatted down and fumbled with the keys, making Clarke wonder if she was purposely unlocking it at a sluggish pace. The blaring alarms may have faded from Clarke's hearing but the noises still played dauntingly in her head, reminding her of the certain doom that could come any minute-- any second.

The lock clicked open and the girl continued to mess with a few various handles and knobs on the metal. Clarke craned her neck to see a glass section of the door-- was it even a door?

Either way, the metal separated from the dirt, revealing a dark room below it. The brunette held it open and turned to look at Clarke, who was suddenly sporting a look of suspicion. After all, the girl who had just recently robbed her at gunpoint was ushering her into a dark hole in the ground. Clarke supposed she had the right to be skeptical.

The girl rolled her eyes at Clarke's expression and descended what must've been a ladder, first, to prove that it was not some sort of trap. Clarke stepped forward and peered into the seemingly endless hole and squatted down to grab the ladder (it was, in fact a ladder, as she had thought).

She counted the steps as she climbed down, getting to twelve before she saw light fill the room. Four more and she was on standing on solid ground, staring at what seemed to be cement walls. She spun around and all but gasped at the room in front of her.

It was _massive_ \-- well, massive compared to what she had always expected an underground shelter to look like. There were shelves on each wall, containing foods and supplies (some of which Clarke recognized to be hers) and under the shelves were various other items, such as barrels, boxes, mats, and blankets that Clarke was sure had some purpose. In one corner was a bed-like structure surrounded with papers, pencils, and weird homemade contraptions that Clarke stored away as questions for later.

Her eyes finally landed back on the other girl in the room and she forced herself to hide the doe-eyed impression she was giving off. The girl had taken to climbing back up the ladder and pulling the hatch shut. The lock that had previously been on the outside of the door was now in her hand and looping onto the inside of the door. It clicked shut and she dropped back to the floor before turning to address Clarke.

"I'll need that bag back," she stated calmly. Clarke raised her eyebrows and blinked a few times, as to question the girl's words.

"What for?"

The girl answered the question by simply turning her head to look at a familiar crossbow leaning against a wall. Clarke followed her gaze, and upon seeing what the girl had been looking at, handed the bag over without more than an irritated scowl. The girl smirked at the reaction she evoked from Clarke and grabbed the backpack (for the second time in under two days), turning to face the shelves of food and water.

One by one, she pulled the cans and bags off the shelves and piled them into Clarke's backpack, leaving Clarke to wonder what was happening. After the bag reached its capacity, the brunette pulled out her set of keys and unlocked a cabinet on the wall, pushing the sack of food inside, and going back for the rest if the food. She didn't stop until the shelves were empty and the cabinet was returned to its formerly locked state.

Again, Clarke gaped at the girl, perplexed as to why she had just secured all the food into the cupboard. She felt incredibly awkward standing in the center of the room, but also felt too unwelcome to sit down anywhere.

"So," Clarke broke the tense silence surrounding them. "I don't get to eat?" She asked slowly, hoping not to anger the girl. She spun to face Clarke again and crossed her arms loosely over her chest.

"You will, but based on my observations of your eating habits, I'd say it's best if I keep the food stored away." She explained dryly. Clarke's mind flashed back to sitting in the forest and gorging herself on sweets and her face immediately flushed red. Thankfully, the brunette turned away before the redness deepened too much. The girl's hands interlocked behind her back as she stared at the corner of the room with the bed.

"You'll be sleeping on the ground. I can offer you blankets as a mattress and I suppose I could spare a pillow to you, but other than that," Her voice trailed off. Clarke felt her eyes narrow in further irritation, but forced herself to be grateful. The girl took to opening a different, unlocked cabinet and pulling out a few blankets. She unfolded them along the wall opposite of her own bed, spreading them on the ground. She grabbed one of the three pillows in the room and threw it on top of the blankets before returning to her own bed. Clarke stepped forward, taking the gesture as an invite to make herself comfortable.

She took a seat on the blankets and did another visual sweep of the room in front of her. She stared a moment longer at the food cabinet than she did at anything else, sending an aftershock of embarrassment through her cheeks. Despite this, Clarke couldn't help but feel lighter, as if finally having a place to stay had lifted all the weight of worries off her shoulders. She stared down at her crossed legs, letting a sad smile come to her lips. The world may be ending, but at least she had a good chance of sticking around.

Remembering the sole reason she was safe, she glanced at the brunette sitting on the bed and sighed silently.

"Thank you," she said, making sure it was loud enough for the other girl to hear. She definitely heard and sent Clarke a look that said 'I find your gratitude annoying.'

"I'm going to bed." The girl muttered back, flipping a switch on the wall to turn the lights off. Clarke sighed again, much louder this time, and pulled her shoes and jacket off, getting under one of the blankets to keep warm. She heard the other girl shuffle in bed for a few minutes before she fell silent.

The floor Clarke was laying on still seeped coldness despite the layer of blanket beneath her, sending chills up her arms and legs. She readjusted herself countless times before her body generated enough heat under the blanket to quell her shivering. When warmth finally made its appearance, Clarke felt her eyes fall exceptionally heavy, reminding her of the great amount of activity that had consumed her day. Her legs ached slightly from the excessive bike riding, adding to her overall exhaustion. Eventually she let her eyes close; she fell asleep instantly.

 

* * *

Clarke was awoken by the sound of mechanical buzzing. She sat up in confusion, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the morning light. The room was surprisingly bright for the lights still being off and when her eyes focused, she found the light to be coming from the window in the door. Her eyes fell upon bizarrely unfamiliar brown hair. For a moment, she thought the girl in front of her was someone she had never met until the figure reached down to grab what had made the loud noise and exposed her face to Clarke.

It was, in fact, the same girl, but something was different. Clarke's newly awake mind had a hard time analyzing the difference until she reverted her gaze to the hair, setting off a metaphoric lightbulb. The girl's hair was not in tight braids any longer. Instead it hung freely in thick, wavy curls that fell perfectly around her cheekbones and jaw-- not that Clarke pondered on this perfection; she just had an eye for nice facial features, because she  _ was _ an artist, and artists noticed those kind of things.

The noise was made from one of the homemade contraptions beside the other girl's bed, Clarke had managed to decipher after a few moments of being awake. The girl shot a worried glance towards Clarke, but hurriedly turned away when she saw the blonde was, now, awake.

Clarke unwrapped herself from her blanket and reached for her jacket, hissing in pain when her back immediately disagreed. She guessed sleeping on hard ground for two days was the main cause of the discomfort.

Clarke zipped herself into the coat, hoping to hold some of her heat inside it. She could hear another loud buzz of white noise from another part of the room, breaking her from her thoughts and making her jump.

"What is that?" Clarke croaked, rolling her shoulders to try and break the knots forming in them.

"Nothing," the brunette responded, not exactly answering Clarke's question.

Clarke glimpsed at the window again, realizing the world above them still seemed in good shape. She didn't remember waking up to the sound of fiery explosions as she had expected to.

"The bombs?"

"Haven't hit, yet."

Clarke took to standing up and craning her neck to get a better look at the contraption in the girl's lap. It looked like some sort of radio, but Clarke couldn't be sure.

Before she had a chance to ponder on the machine any further, her stomach let out an obnoxious growl, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything since the previous afternoon. Thankfully, the static noise prevented the other girl from hearing and spared Clarke the embarrassment.

"What's for breakfast?" Clarke asked loud enough for the brunette to hear her over the noise. She looked up from the-- Clarke still didn't know what it was-- and all but rolled her eyes at her. She clicked a button on the machine and set it aside, standing from her bed and walking towards the food cabinet. The girl pulled out her set of keys and unlocked the lock, pulling open the cabinet doors.

Clarke saw her bag and remembered the contents; the scraps of pastries, the coffee beans, the journal--  _her journal_.  The same journal that held a drawing of a certain brunette that would cause Clarke great humiliation if said brunette were to see it.

She kept quiet, though, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to the notebook. When the girl handed Clarke one of the stale pastries she had found, Clarke accepted it with a simple 'thank you' despite the knowledge of her journal being locked away.

The pastry fell apart in her hands, leaving crumbs on the floor that Clarke hastily picked up and ate, too. All the while, the other girl continued fidgeting with the odd device, not stopping until Clarke asked another question.

"Where do I-" Clarke began, but stopped to look around before continuing. The sudden sound caught the brunette's attention and she clicked a button on the radio-- Clarke had decided it was definitely a radio-- to stop the static coming from it. "Where is the bathroom?" Clarke asked, still looking around, mostly just to avoid the other's gaze.

Again, she stood from her bed with a sigh and walked to the wall with the ladder on it and reached onto a shelf to grab a bucket. She grabbed the handle and swung it down, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clank. The brunette extended a hand, motioning to the bucket before returning to her bed, this time picking up some of the paper and pencils scattered on the concrete.

Clarke stared at the bucket, unable to keep her lip from curling in disgust. She looked from the brunette to the bucket and back again, formulating a plan to use the bathroom without embarrassing herself any further.

"Could you, maybe, turn away?" Obviously, her plan didn't work because Clarke could feel redness fill her cheeks before the words were out of her mouth. Clarke could practically _hear_ the girl's eyes roll. After mumbling something in the language Clarke didn't understand (whatever was said was not said in a nice manner, so Clarke figured she was better off not hearing it), she turned her body and held a hand against her eyes, hiding Clarke from her vision.

The deed was done without any further complications and after clearing her throat to signal that she was done, Clarke returned to her makeshift bed that she assumed she would be spending a lot of time in from now on. (She was right.)

 

* * *

 

A few days passed and Clarke and the other girl had fallen into a routine, of sorts. Neither of the two ever held much of a conversation, mostly keeping to themselves unless one had a question or needed help (Clarke was generally the conversation starter). Just when Clarke thought she would die of boredom, she was reunited with her journal, providing something for her to do while the other girl busied herself with the contraptions and papers beside her bed.

Clarke had woken up to the sound of jingling keys, signaling it was time for breakfast, but when she opened her eyes to see what was on the menu, she only saw the brunette standing over her with a journal and pencil in her hand.

"I believe this is yours," she held the belongings out for Clarke to take. Inside, Clarke was praying that the girl hadn't looked at any of the contents, but outside she remained neutral, snatching the notebook from the other girl and pulling it to her chest. The suspicious smirk on the other girl's face didn't make Clarke feel any better about the situation. She didn't ever find out if her drawing had been exposed, but never heard any discussion of the topic, hopefully meaning it had not been.

Clarke still didn't know the girl's name, or anything else about her, for that matter. She couldn't complain, however, since she did have food, water, and shelter. She could live without knowing her name, even if it was a prominent question in her thoughts.

Sometimes the girl would use the cell phone that always rested in her back pocket, even though it was impossible for it to still do anything that required a network. Clarke had, on more than one occasion, stared longingly at the device, her mind filled with images of her mother and questions about her well being. She often reflected on the final texts she received from her mom and what she would give to have one more chance at responding to them, even though these ideas were useless at making her feel any better about her decisions to ignore her in the first place.

Surprisingly, Clarke's third night passed, still bomb free. Despite it being a good thing that the world hadn't been engulfed in flames, yet, the constant anxiety over when it would be only made Clarke more agitated about it. From what she could tell, the brunette was anticipating the disaster, too.

When Clarke fell asleep on the fourth night, the bombs had not even been on her mind. She had fallen asleep with thoughts of her hunger pangs lingering in her head. However, when Clarke opened her eyes at an ungodly hour to hear deafening explosions and see bright orange fire illuminating the shelter, all the anxiety resurfaced, bringing fearful tears with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How about a little cliffhanger for you all? I told myself over and over that Clarke would find out Lexa's name in this chapter but I couldn't fit it in. I swear it'll happen next chapter because I'm tired of always writing "the girl" or "the brunette." Hey, I guess I wasn't lying when I said this was a slow burn... 
> 
> Please leave me some feedback so I know if you guys are liking it or if I need to change anything. Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter:  
> When Clarke fell asleep on the fourth night, the bombs had not even been on her mind. She had fallen asleep with thoughts of her hunger pangs lingering in her head. However, when Clarke opened her eyes at an ungodly hour to hear deafening explosions and see bright orange fire illuminating the shelter, all the anxiety resurfaced, bringing fearful tears with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! Enjoy the update!

Clarke had been so entranced by the lights of yellow and red waving through the room that she hadn't even noticed the brunette, already awake, leaning against the corner of her bed.

They made eye contact for an instant, but broke it simultaneously. Clarke swore she saw fear in the other girl's eyes, but brushed it off. She had never seen the brunette show any emotion-- any sign of weakness-- and, surely, a few forest fires wouldn't make the girl's stoic exterior crack.

When she brought her hands to her eyes to wipe the stray tears falling from them, a shudder erupted from her arms, breaking her from her thoughts and reminding her of the frigid wall and floor that she sat against. Again she looked towards the brunette, snuggled warmly in excessive amounts of blankets. Envy swept through Clarke's body, willing her to give anything to not feel cold.

Unfair. That was the only word for it. Clarke got cold cement and ripped blankets while the other girl got thick mattresses and puffy duvets that probably didn't get cold if she moved too much.

Surprisingly the fires outside did not provide any heat inside. Instead they just grew menacingly, making the air tense with fear and... something else Clarke couldn't quite put her finger on.

The fires reminded her of a bad accident; the kind that are hard to look away from. As if an overpowering sense of awe or amazement prevented her from looking away.

That's the feeling that the flames gave her.

Her squeezed shut eyes betrayed her and sneaked a look at the brunette, only to find the girl was already looking in her direction.

At this point Clarke could either look away and deal with the awkwardness that would ensue after, or hold the girl's stare and hope her pathetic shivering would convince the girl to spare another blanket. She decided on the latter option when she saw how warm--how incredibly  _ cozy  _ \-- the other girl looked.

Their eyes locked for a few moments (Clarke forced herself to shiver extra hard, just for emphasis).

It must have worked because the brunette stared a bit longer before nodding her head towards the wall behind her bed.

Clarke was to her feet, running to the bed before she was aware of what the gesture meant. She pushed back some blanket on the edge and climbed in, struggling not to collapse when her knees came in contact with the cushiony mattress. She flipped around and sat down, back against the same wall as the brunette, but still an arm's-length or so from the girl's shoulder.

Clarke pulled the plush blanketaround her shoulders and almost moaned at the warmth resonating through it from the other girl. The idea of sharing the bed with the girl made Clarke feel some sort of way, but she didn't think long on the sensation, overwhelmed by how quickly she had stopped shivering.

The room fell still once again, tension filling the space between the two. Clarke looked over occasionally to see that the brunette looked surprisingly calm to be in the midst of a nuclear apocalypse. Perhaps she was just better at handling stress than Clarke.

 _ Or much better at hiding it.  _ Clarke hadn't forgotten the look of fear that had been in the brunette's eyes, earlier.

When Clarke stole an exceptionally long glance at the girl, she found the girl's eyes fallen shut, her chin tilted upwards in thought. It was a good angle for her. Clarke's hands itched to draw the girl's face again, suddenly believing her previous sketches hadn't done the brunette much justice.

Another loud explosion made the walls tremble and broke Clarke from the thoughts. For a moment, Clarke was thankful the explosion prevented that idea from going any further. This time when she looked at the brunette, she sat in the same position but her eyes were snapped open. This close, Clarke could see the girl's eyes, but flames beaming in through the window warped their color, tinting them neon orange. Clarke knew the girl's eyes were green, anyways. Which wasn't weird. She had just noticed. She didn't purposely discover the girl's eye color so she would know what color to make them in her sketch.  _ Definitely not. _

"Not what I imagined an apocalypse to sound like."

The voice made Clarke gasp in surprise, as if she had forgotten that speaking existed. She recovered well, however, hiding her shock and hurriedly thinking of a response that wouldn't embarrass herself or get her into trouble.

"What did you think it would sound like?" It was the perfect response. Simple, but kept the conversation going. She would have patted herself on the back for it if she could have.

The brunette scoffed at this, pulling at her fingernails and avoiding eye contact. Again, it was silent (aside from the ever-present hissing of flames and the occasional explosion) and Clarke had almost decided that she wouldn't get an answer, when the brunette spoke again.

"I guess I expected it to be like they are in movies." The girl paused for a long moment, allowing her normally stiff neck to fall to one side. "There's always people shouting and cars honking, but this," the girl started, lifting a hand to motion to the outdoors. "This just feels too quiet."

It was honest. Too honest for a conversation between a girl she'd only known less than a week, Clarke thought. Still, she allowed it since it was, truly, their first conversation together.

Clarke couldn't see how deafening explosions were  _ quiet _ , but understood what the girl meant by the observation.

She nodded, wondering if the girl had purposely responded with a depressing reply to make it so much harder for Clarke to think of something else to say.

"I always thought I would be with my mom." Clarke sighed. Well, they  _ were _ being honest. The conversation seemed to stop there and Clarke couldn't complain. Maybe light conversation and the end of the world didn't go well together. Clarke finally broke eye contact, readjusting the blankets around her shoulders.

"Where is she now?"

Again, Clarke was caught-off-guard, both from the content of the question and the fact that it was being asked at all. Clarke had assumed their morbid small-talk was over. She had also assumed that the girl, who seemingly hated her presence just minutes before, didn't want to chat with her.

"I- uhm- she's on a- army base." Clarke replied, not expecting to stutter so much. She knew the stuttering was only because she truly didn't know if her mom had made it to an army base. She knew very little about her mother's well-being.

The brunette seemed to recognize this, narrowing her eyes as if she were trying to read Clarke's actions.

"You don't really know where she is, do you?" The girl concluded, making Clarke's mouth fall agape in defense.

The question enraged Clarke. The effortless cynicism that it was said with, the trying smirk that followed it. It was unfair that the brunette could read her so well-- interpret her words and convey them as facts.

"Yes, I do. She's on an army base." Clarke reiterated, sounding more like she was convincing herself of the fact.

The brunette simply hummed at this, seemingly more unconvinced. Clarke suddenly felt too hot under the blankets, anger fueling the extra heat.

It was infuriating. The brunette always seemed to take any casual conversation and turn it to irritation in just a few words. Their conversations always ended with more annoyance towards the girl, and it made Clarke want to pull her own hair out.

Determined not to let another conversation slip into that irritation, Clarke forced herself to say something else.

"Where're  _ your _ parents?" She assumed that the question was acceptable to ask (she secretly hoped it would get a rise out of the brunette for her own satisfaction).

"All gone. Not apocalypse related." She answered anticlimactically. Clarke rolled her eyes. Of course she would have a simple answer.

The room succumbed to silence yet again, both girls staring up at the skylight. Trees fell to the ground with loud booms, crackling when they hit the fiery earth. The sounds were oddly relaxing, like listening to the gentle popping and crackling of a fireplace, but as soon as Clarke remembered that the entire world had become a fireplace, she suddenly felt less relaxed.

"You never told me your name." Clarke said suddenly, unaware that she had subconsciously decided to say it. She was glad she spoke, though, needing a distraction from the destruction outside. Their eyes met again until the brunette turned and nodded slowly as if she didn't understand the meaning behind the statement.

"I'm Clarke, in case you wanted to know." She continued, hoping to get the point across that she should share her name, too.

"I didn't," the brunette responded curtly.

_ Of course you didn't. _ Clarke's head hurt from how hard she rolled her eyes at the words. The brunette must have received the reaction she had wanted because the same smirk perched smugly on her lips when she saw Clarke's annoyance.

"I'm Lexa, since I know  _ you _ wanted to know."

Again.  _ Unfair. _

Clarke pushed this injustice aside when the name was said. There was nothing polite or social about the way she said it. Instead it was as if someone had forced the response, despite the brunette's disinterest in wanting to tell.

Still, Clarke was taken aback.

_ Lexa. _

She'd never heard the name before, making her question if she had heard it right. Maybe it was Alexa? Alexis? Perhaps it was a nickname for a longer name such as Alexandra. Either way, Clarke nodded slowly, allowing the name to bounce around her thoughts, momentarily. She looked at the girl-- Lexa-- and narrowed her eyes. The name truly suited her. It was unique and the fact that Clarke had never heard it before seemed to add another layer of mystery to Lexa's whole story. Not that Clarke was interested in her story. Sometimes she just... wondered, and this was a crucial piece to the 'Lexa puzzle.'

Clarke knew Lexa was definitely foreign; the strange language and unique name confirmed this. However, the details of her previous locations were still unknown.

At this point, Clarke was staring at Lexa for far too long to be considered normal. Every response that Clarke could think to make seemed to have flaws. She opted to keep the conversation going with more questions.

"Is that a Spanish name?" She settled on and watched Lexa's head tilt in confusion, confirming that it was probably not Spanish.

"You  _ really _ don't know where you are, do you?" Lexa's eyes were narrowed, not necessarily in anger, but more of an intense interest in what Clarke had just said. Maybe there was some anger. Clarke couldn't tell. She was bad at reading people.

Clarke's eyes, however, were definitely narrowed in anger. Her cheeks had flushed red, but she refused to break eye contact, in fear that it would only give Lexa more pride (And the last thing that girl needed was  _ more _ pride). Clarke silently wondered if she would be able to say anything without earning an intimidating response from the brunette.

"No, but the next time I take shelter with a complete stranger, I'll be sure to get the address first." Clarke answered sarcastically, feeling satisfied with the snarky response.

Lexa snorted and shook her head (adding in her signature eye roll that Clarke loved  _ so _ much).

The conversation seemed to die off after her reply, both girl's focusing on the fire outside, which suddenly felt alarming, again. Clarke had somewhat forgotten it while talking to Lexa, but now that it was quiet, her anxiety had surfaced again.

Her eyes were still felt wet from her previous tears and she thought for a moment on whether or not Lexa had noticed. She probably had, considering she noticed just about everything else about her.

The burning didn't slow down for hours, and when it finally did, it left a thick trail of ash in its wake. The sun that should have been shining through the window was blocked by the smoke, preventing the room from heating up any further.

Both girls stayed under the blankets all morning, until hunger outweighed their desire to stay warm in the bed. Lexa was the first to leave the warmth, considering she had the key to the food cabinet.

Something felt wrong about continuing on as normal. It didn't seem right for Clarke and Lexa to enjoy the luxury of food and water while the world around them crumbled.

Clarke convinced herself that she was too anxious to eat, despite her growling stomach. Lexa didn't mind either way; the less they ate, the better off they would be.

Strangely, as abruptly as the explosions had started, they stopped in the same fashion. When the crackling of embers did finally quit, the room felt too quiet. It was the kind of silence that made her ears ring and she wished again for some sort of conversation to take her mind off of it.

When she looked at Lexa, who was assuming her well-known 'thinking position,' it was obvious that Clarke would need to be the one to initiate the talking, again.

The words sat on the tip of her tongue, but she clenched her teeth to keep them from coming out, unsure if she wanted to say them. Her indecisiveness made her head spin and she felt stupid for letting Lexa get to her so much.

_ Pull yourself together, Griffin. _

The pep talk didn't help.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the girls were forced to leave the warmth of the duvets and go about their daily responsibilities.

Lexa had taken to obsessively counting and recounting supplies, marking the numbers and other calculations on the papers beside her bed. Clarke had been given the nauseating job of emptying the 'toilet bucket' into one of the large barrels in the room, as they were supposed to do every couple days, to keep foul smells away.

Clarke always made sure to complain loudly for Lexa to hear, hoping that the laments would annoy the brunette enough to relieve her of the duty. It never did, and only resulted in a slightly more agitated Lexa.

The day progressed slowly, stress from the morning's events still looming in the air. Lexa had retired to her bed fairly early (or what seemed to be early; Clarke couldn't tell the exact time, thanks to the thick layer of ash covering the skylight), leaving Clarke alone in the dimly candlelit room.

She would have gone to sleep, too, if the room hadn't been so cold. Instead she had a candle burning close by, providing just enough light for her to see the sketchbook sitting in her lap.

She sighed heavily when she looked down at the blank page, her 'artist's block' in full swing. After flipping through her previous drawings for the umpteenth time for inspiration, she gave up and allowed her head to fall against the wall behind her.

She rubbed her tired eyes and let out a quiet groan, cautious not to be loud enough to wake the brunette.

Clarke's eyes flicked to the skylight, which was still thickly covered in black. But this time, when she looked, the candlelight shined off in a way that revealed an imperfection that hadn't been visible minutes ago. Her heart sped up at the thought of what the line going across the window could be.

Cautiously, she stood from her blanket on the floor and moved towards the ladder in the front of the room, unable to look away.

Only when she was directly under the skylight, could she see the imperfection that confirmed her fears.

There was a crack in the window.

If she hadn't been able to sleep before, she definitely wouldn't be able to, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger!? But, hey, at least Clarke knows Lexa's name now! 
> 
> I didn't want this chapter to be so short, but the next chapter will be longer to make up for it. Thank you all so much for reading and commenting and I hope you will continue to do so. Your comments always brighten my day, so keep 'em coming! Until next week....


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter: Cautiously, she stood from her blanket on the floor and moved towards the ladder in the front of the room, unable to look away. 
> 
> Only when she was directly under the skylight, could she see the imperfection that confirmed her fears. 
> 
> There was a crack in the window.
> 
> If she hadn't been able to sleep before, she definitely wouldn't be able to, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who wished me well a few days ago. I'm feeling much better after a few doses of antibiotics and steroids. Remember how I said I'd wait until Monday to post? Well.... I decided to post early and hopefully I'll find a way to get back to Monday updates. We'll see... 
> 
> This chapter is all about Clarke and her backstory because I feel it's important to include. Character development and all that good stuff, right? Anyways it's late and I'm full of Vicodin and Prednisone so if this chapter has any errors, I apologize in advance. But thanks again to all you lovely people out there. You really made my day! <3

Clarke was always supposed to be a doctor. Just like her mom, Abby Griffin, who made it a daily chore to teach her daughter all that she could about the medical world. Clarke could name every bone in the human body, and where it was located, by the age of eight. By age twelve, her mom was quizzing her on different diseases and syndromes and the various ways to diagnose them.

Clarke, however, despised everything medical and had no plans to actually pursue the career path. If it had been up to her, she would have spent her free time painting and sketching, instead of learning the symptoms of appendicitis. But according to her mother, "art is just a hobby and impossible to make a living off of."

She refused to tell her mother about her disinterest, afraid she would be utterly disgusted by the confession. So, she continued to learn, only wanting to please her mom, despite her growing anger towards the woman.

In the little free time that she had, Clarke took to her easel, which she had to beg for from her mom. Even then, she didn't get one until she turned thirteen. She could have spent hours sketching and drawing if she had been allowed to, which rarely happened. Anytime Abby would walk into Clarke's room and find her daughter drawing, she would sigh heavily and ask why she would want to spend precious time on such a childish hobby.

Senior year of high school, Clarke was pressured into applying at schools like Harvard and Stanford, both of which turned down her application, much to her mother's dismay. Clarke saw the rejection as the perfect opportunity to apply to some of the most well-known art colleges. After sending in copious applications with all of her best pieces of work, the waiting game began.

Before any of the art programs could send her an acceptance letter, one had come from Vanderbilt University on the last day of high school.

Her mother had guaranteed a surprise when she got home, and while walking to her house from the bus stop, Abby had pulled her car up beside her and declared they were going out to dinner. Clarke excitedly got inside the vehicle, her mind wandering to what the 'surprise' could possibly be.

Dinner started wonderfully, Clarke being allowed to order whatever she wanted, because "she had deserved it." Unbeknownst to what she could have done, she ordered a pricy steak and french fries (because french fries were her favorite and she wanted to order them, even if the side dish looked odd next to the expensive cut of meat).

Halfway through the meal, Clarke's mom said it was time for the surprise and reached into her purse for a manila envelope, shielding the mailing address from Clarke's view.

"Honey, I just want you to know that I am so proud of you and I know you worked so hard--" Her mother began, staring at the ceiling as if looking at her daughter would be enough to bring happy tears to her eyes.

"Just show me!" Clarke shouted a little too loudly for a restaurant setting.

"Okay, okay," Clarke watched as the envelope turned, revealing a familiar letter 'V' emblem and the words 'Vanderbilt University' in off-white letters.

If Clarke had any appetite left, the sight of the acceptance letter took the remnants away when her stomach twisted into multiple knots.

"You got accepted! I sent in the security deposit today. You'll move into the dorms in August." Abby beamed.

Yeah, she was done eating.

Clarke's face must have mirrored the lack of excitement, making her mom's expression to go blank, too. Clarke reflected back on the numerous college applications she had just sent. The ones that were basically useless, now.

"You decided for me?" Clarke managed to ask, at a loss of words.

"Yes! It's already so close to August and I don't think any better opportunities are going to come along. Clarke, this is in the top twenty best medical colleges. You're not happy?" Her mom rambled, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

Using her elbows, Clarke pushed her plate away and buried her head in her hands. All she could manage to do after was shake her head, too upset to look at her mom. Her mom, the one who just ripped all of her artistic dreams from under her. "Clarke, what's wrong?"

Mustering up all her courage (and eighteen years of anger towards the woman across from her) she lifted her head and glared at Abby.

"I don't  _ want _ to go to Vanderbilt." She whined, her hands still pushed against her cheeks to hide the redness building in them.

"Oh, trust me, if I could have gotten you into Harvard, I would have. But don't worry, this will-" Abby started to say, but was cut off by an obnoxious groan from Clarke.

"I don't want to be a doctor!"

Her mother's face twisted in bewilderment, trying to discern the statement from her daughter.

"What do you mean? You've always wanted to be a doctor!"

"No, mom,  _ you _ wanted me to be a doctor." Clarke didn't understand how her mom could have been so oblivious for the last ten or so years.

"I-I don't understand." It was Abby's turn to be speechless.

"I applied to some art colleges." Clarke confessed, years of distress from hiding her love of drawing spilling into the words.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I want to be an artist, mom. It's what I've  _ always _ wanted to do." She explained, watching her mother's expression dive deeper into confusion and disappointment. Its the exact look Clarke always imagined her to have when she confessed.

"That's a hobby, Clarke. No one makes a living off of drawings anymore." Abby responded. Clarke had heard it countless times in her life. "I've already paid the security deposit. There's nothing you can do now."

At that point, Clarke zoned out, nodding along as her mom lectured her on how much more successful doctors are, and how she shouldn't pursue her childish dreams, because that's all they were. _Childish dreams._

Not long after, they left the restaurant, abandoning Clarke's half-eaten meal, and her previous excitement.

Still, Clarke wouldn't give up that easily. An entire childhood of bitterness and resentment suddenly felt like too much to suppress anymore. So, doing what any spiteful, rebellious teen would do, Clarke left. She packed up all her things in one night, bled her savings account of all its money, and took the first flight to Chicago that she could find.

She arrived in The Windy City with little besides the clothes on her back and her collection of art supplies. Her first week was spent in a sketchy motel until she found an equally as sketchy apartment complex to rent. Before she knew it, she was flipping burgers at a fast food joint, desperate to pay off her maxed out credit cards, and regretting every decision she had made. She refused to speak with her mother, too afraid to answer calls or even read the text messages that she sent. All she could picture was the pathetic look of disappointment on her mom's face and how much more upset she must be about losing her daughter (and a costly security deposit that Clarke wouldn't be using).

 

* * *

Clarke thought, for sure, that she was dying, considering that parts of her life had flashed before her eyes. The medical side of her brain had already assessed and reassessed the situation, weighing options and ideas in her head. She had heard Lexa say at one point or another that the bombs would cause intense radiation outside, which is why they needed to stay inside.

Clarke narrowed her eyes at the crack in the window, trying to decide if radiation would be able to seep through the crevice. Immediately, she listed off radiation poisoning symptoms in her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to remember them.

Now that she was thinking about it, she _did_ feel a little nauseous, but that could very well be from her anxiety over the new discovery.

Still, upon recognizing the danger, she whipped her head around to see Lexa, fast asleep, in her warm bed. She knew that she needed to wake the brunette, but after their earlier conversations, Clarke was not looking forward to any more talking. Plus, Lexa didn't seem like the kind of person that enjoyed being woken up.

Despite this assumption, Clarke tip-toed over to the sleeping girl and reached out a hand to shake her, but stopped halfway to the girl's shoulder. She had never been so close to Lexa and now that her hand was inches away from the brunette's muscled shoulder and intimidating tattoos, she wished that streak would have continued. Her eyes scanned over the exposed part of Lexa's arm, falling on what looked like a circular scar, about the size of a nickel. Her eyes narrowed at the mark, wondering what caused it.

The only explanation that came to Clarke's mind was a bullet wound.

Clarke knew she was in a bad side of her town, but, a gunshot wound?

Before she could ponder further on the origin of the scar, her eyes were drawn to another, identical scar, peeking out from under Lexa's wavy hair.

_ Two gunshots? _

As soon as the thought came, it was replaced by another when she saw a third, similar scar next to the others.

Deciding that getting shot three times was too unrealistic, Clarke shook the thought from her head and brought her attention back to the task in front of her.

Careful not to touch any of the odd scars, Clarke rested her hand on Lexa's shoulder and shook it gently, her heart racing with trepidation about how the brunette would react (and not at all about the fact that her hand was suddenly warm and tingling the second it touched Lexa's arm).

Almost immediately, her green eyes snapped open, and seconds later she was sitting up and glaring at Clarke as if she'd just offended her. Genuinely fearing for her own safety, Clarke backed up a few steps to be out of the brunette's reach.

"Why did you wake me up?" Lexa asked grumpily, pushing a few stray hairs behind her ears.

"I have a question." Clarke stated simply, her heart pounding harder at the look of disgust on Lexa's face. The other girl's expression only became more unhappy at this statement.

"It better be a damn, good question." Lexa muttered, rubbing her eyes to get them to focus in the dim lighting. Clarke couldn't help but notice the way the brunette hair fell over Lexa's face, messy from sleep, and somewhat greasy from not being washed for a few days. Clarke still believed that the appearance looked good on the girl. She could only hope that she looked that good after not showering for a week.

"How long would we survive in here if there was a crack in the window?" Clarke spoke incredibly fast and she could tell that Lexa's newly awake brain had a hard time comprehending the inquiry.

When the intention of the question was clear, Lexa's eyes widened in shock.

"There's a crack in the window?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep, but still managed to carry a hint of fear that had never been heard before. Clarke nodded, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

Lexa was out of the bed and standing under the skylight in record time. After a few moments of careful inspection, she took to rummaging through a few cabinets until she found a roll of silver duct tape. She climbed the ladder to the window and tore off large pieces until the crack was covered in a generous amount of tape.

Clarke eyed the handiwork skeptically. If her life was in the figurative hands of a few strips of tape, she didn't feel very secure.

When Lexa was back on the floor, she turned towards Clarke and nodded as to confirm that the problem was solved.

"Do you think that'll fix it?" Clarke asked, glancing at the newly-gray window. Lexa was already walking back towards her bed before Clarke had finished speaking.

"Don't know." She mumbled back, sitting on top of the mattress and yawning. It amazed Clarke that Lexa could be so nonchalant about a possibly deadly situation, while Clarke could barely stop her hands from shaking.

"Okay, well, if you start to get nauseous or throw up or get a headache, then--" Clarke rambled, tapping into her 'doctor brain.' It must have been all of the medical training that made her so inclined to care for others before herself, but she could feel a pit in her stomach form at the thought of Lexa getting radiation poisoning.

"Then what?" Lexa's hands fell from running through her hair and smacked against the bed, testily. "It's not as if there is anything we could do at that point." Her voice reclaimed it's nonchalant nature, probably noticing that she had been a bit rude, previously. Or maybe she could care less about how rude she was to Clarke. (Clarke assumed it was the latter option.)

Slightly taken aback, Clarke's jaw slackened, and she couldn't help but feel aggravation fizz inside her chest. " _Then_ , I can figure out how to treat it." She shot back, crossing her arms over her chest, mimicking Lexa's rude tone. Lexa scoffed at this.

"What makes you think  _ you're _ qualified to treat it?"

Clarke pondered on the question, momentarily. She guessed she  _ wasn't _ qualified to treat it. But she was as good as anyone else, and all that they had. "I'll have you know, I got accepted into Vanderbilt University's medical program." A content smile came to Clarke's face when she said it, but nothing about the statement made her feel proud. Instead, her thoughts flashed back to the pathetic look of disappointment on her mom's face at dinner and only made her feel the guilt that she always felt when thinking about her mom.

Again, Lexa scoffed, breaking Clarke from her thoughts just in time to see Lexa roll her eyes.

"Then what are you doing in Illinois?" She squinted her eyes in doubt. The question seemed to end the conversation, causing the room to fall quiet. Clarke knew the answer, but didn't know if she wanted to say it, especially to a girl that she didn't particularly enjoy talking to. She'd never said it aloud before, too afraid that the words would make it too real to handle.

"I decided I liked art better." She finally spoke, her voice sounding smaller than she had anticipated. When she reestablished eye contact, the brunette was holding back a smile, ready to speak again, but looking as if she was contemplating whether or not to say it.

"That makes sense. You're a good artist."

Clarke's face immediately started to burn and her eyes widened in embarrassment. She knew that the statement could only mean one thing. Lexa had looked through her sketchbook. And if she had looked through the sketchbook, she almost definitely saw the drawing of herself. The intense pink rising to her cheeks seemed to make Lexa's smirk impossible to hold back.

Clarke had no response (and she couldn't bear to look at the brunette's complacent grin any longer), so she just turned away from Lexa and stared at the food cabinet, desperate for a change of topic.

"I haven't had anything to eat today." She voiced, hoping to get the point across that she wanted to eat, without needing to ask. It must have worked, because Clarke could hear Lexa stand from her bed and pull out a set of jingling keys from her pocket.

Moments later she was holding a couple pieces of bread and a mini water bottle out for Clarke to take. "I'm going back to bed." Lexa sighed after Clarke accepted the food.

Both girls retreated to their corners of the room, leaving Clarke to sulk in her humiliation from the earlier comments. Her body ached for a cold shower, even with the frigid air around her. For a brief moment, she considered pouring the water bottle on her head, but knew that would only cause her more embarrassment, so she refrained.

Clarke's eyes trailed back to the, yet again, asleep brunette and she sighed. She was already sick of the shelter she was in, and it'd only been a week.

The bread suddenly tasted sour in her mouth, and the notebook laying on her 'bed' seemed to be staring holes in her back. She pulled a blanket over her legs, pulling the sketchbook closer in the process. Giving in, she grabbed the sketchbook for the second time that night and flipped to a blank page, her mind unexpectedly full of ideas.

She consumed the page with oranges and reds, using black to outline trees and grays to color the top of the page. When she finally let the drawing pencils fall from her newly stained hands, she observed the art in full. It had been based off of the scene that she was able to see from the window when the bombs had fallen, and getting the overwhelming visual onto paper made it somehow seem less confronting.

She stared at the picture for what felt like hours before shutting the notebook and allowing herself to fall back onto her pillow and slip into a restless sleep (filled with tossing and turning that transferred the streaks of color from her hands to her face, which Lexa would probably find a way to make fun of when they both woke up).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Clarke, the rebellious teen. Sooo, we know about Clarke. I wonder who we'll learn about next chapter. *cough* It's Lexa *cough* This chapter was kinda short again, but I just really wanted to get it posted. Maybe next chapter will be longer? Don't hold me to that, though. Also! I'd love to hear your theories on Lexa's backstory if you have any. Comment what you think! Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter:   
> She consumed the page with oranges and reds, using black to outline trees and grays to color the top of the page. When she finally let the drawing pencils fall from her newly stained hands, she observed the art in full. It had been based off of the scene that she was able to see from the window when the bombs had fallen, and getting the overwhelming visual onto paper made it somehow seem less confronting. 
> 
> She stared at the picture for what felt like hours before shutting the notebook and allowing herself to fall back onto her pillow and slip into a restless sleep (filled with tossing and turning that transferred the streaks of color from her hands to her face, which Lexa would probably find a way to make fun of when they both woke up).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I actually did it. I wrote a chapter in four days. I'm a legend. (Not really, plenty of people write this much in one day, and this chapter is pretty short, but I'M PROUD OKAY?)
> 
> As of today, almost 2000 people have clicked onto this story and decided it was worth a shot, and out of those 2000, over 100 of them decided it was good enough to earn a click of the kudos button. I think that's pretty rad. Thanks for the support, everyone! <3
> 
> This chapter deals a lot with where the bombs came from and Clarke's life right before they were launched. I tried to make it as close to the canon storyline as possible but it wasn't very easy. I hope it makes sense but if not, I guess there's always time to go back and change it. Let me know whatcha think!

If Clarke would have guessed where she would be at the age of nineteen, it would not have included working at a fast food joint. Yet here she was, strapping a faux bowtie around her neck and pulling a 'Flippin' Good Burgers' hat onto her head as she stared in the mirror at what she had become.

_ Just a few more weeks. _

She'd been repeating the mantra for days, knowing that in two weeks and four days, she would be submitting her first set of artwork to a local gallery. The submissions would be seen by other, well-known gallery owners, meaning that her paintings could, quite possibly, earn her a job or internship at one of those galleries.

_ If your art is good enough. _

Clarke wanted to roll her eyes at her negative thoughts, but brushed them off, instead, reminding herself of all the great things that could happen. She fixed the hair under the black visor and sighed, clicking off the bathroom light and returning to her apartment's living room. The television was already switched on, from when she had first gotten out of bed, and set to the morning news. The stories that were being read by the reporters were always depressing, but it was the only thing on at seven in the morning and Clarke was desperate for some background noise while she made breakfast.

Her breakfast of choice that morning consisted of two pieces of toast (no butter, she'd run out and didn't get her paycheck for a few more days) and some orange juice, which she took to the couch to watch the boring stories on the news.

However, one story happened to catch her eye. It was about some scandal on the recent space base.

Clarke remembered when the space base had first launched. It was the national space station's idea, employed as a way to protect the United States from terrorist attacks and upcoming wars. The base was a good sized ship, containing various weapons and missiles that a small handful of people had access to. Along with the ammunition, there had been rumors of experiments being done on the ship, but none of the suspicions were ever confirmed.

But, the newscast Clarke was watching spoke about the rumors as if they were true, drawing her attention to the screen.

"Technological engineer and astrophysicist, Becca Pramheda, has announced her newest creation of an artificial intelligence unit, or AI, that will mimic human actions and interactions. Pramheda claims that the AI is 'just the beginning of the major plans she has for the future.'" The reporter quoted. Clarke squinted her eyes in thought as she tried to process the excessive amount of big words that were just thrown at her.

Before she could fully comprehend the report, the television flashed to a black-haired woman, sitting complacently in a chair, and sporting a fancy badge on her pantsuit. Clarke assumed the lady to be Becca.

"What are your plans for this AI, or as you like to call it, ALIE 2?" A voice from off-screen asked. Clarke subconsciously nibbled on her toast, suddenly enthralled by the possibilities of what the woman might respond with.

"I think that AI's open up so many opportunities for the future. The options are endless." The response was vague and Clarke assumed that the woman had meant to keep its meaning unclear.

There was a pause in the conversation before the off-screen voice sounded with another question.

"You call this unit ALIE 2. What happened to ALIE 1?"

Becca shifted in her seat at the words, obviously uncomfortable. "I think every good device has an initial prototype. ALIE 1 had a few minor bugs in her system, so I was forced to recreate her." Again, Clarke couldn't help but notice how indirect the statement was.

"Where is ALIE 1, now? Was her code terminated?"

Clarke's mind was drowning in the endless amount of scholarly words.  _ A college degree would probably be useful, right about now. _

"Unfortunately, I created ALIE to be durable. I coded her to survive for a long period of time. So, she does still exist, but her coding is being contained." Becca explained, unable to look directly into the camera. Clarke narrowed her eyes at the claim; it sounded too good to be true. Still, she brushed it off and finished her last piece of toast just as the screen changed to a set of reporters, again.

From there, they briefly concluded the segment before continuing onto another uninteresting story that lost Clarke's attention.

The story seemed to fill every conversation in her town, coming up multiple times while she was at work. Everyone seemed to have their own theories about the odd news segment. Some said that Becca had implanted the AI inside herself, transforming her brain to that of a mechanical robot. Others assumed that ALIE 2 was going to be used to work in government, potentially becoming the next president. Clarke had no input on the discussion, mostly because she didn't understand much of the technology and strange terms being used.

Despite that, she shared the belief, along with the rest of America, that something was fishy.

Becca's name remained the talk of the nation for days on end. However, no new stories surfaces about the AI or Becca until a full week later.

But, this news broadcast did not share the same curious tone that the previous ones had. Instead, the anchors warned America of a potential threat coming from ship, orbiting some 300,000 feet in the air.

Apparently, ALIE 1's code had somehow escaped (Clarke still did not fully understand the terminology being used), taking control of the space base's mainframe. Becca Pramheda had released a statement, claiming that ALIE was 'unstable' and had 'unfortunately gained access to the nuclear weapons aboard the base.'

Unsurprisingly, the nation took to panic, wondering how they would save the world from an AI that could, at any moment, destroy everything.

A day later, when Becca broadcasted another statement saying that ALIE 1 had plans to save the world by 'lowering Earth's population,' everyone went into survival mode, fleeing to army bases and bomb shelters to escape the chaos that would come.

Clarke's first instinct was doubt. She refused to believe that the world she knew was ending.

Therefore, she stupidly carried on about her life as if all was normal, even though she knew that all around, her opportunities to save herself were diminishing. 

 

* * *

Clarke allowed the memory to swim through her thoughts for a few minutes, deciding she had nothing better to do. She'd been sealed inside the underground room for almost two weeks and the boredom was starting to take a toll on her.

"Can't we just go outside for a minute?" Clarke had asked a few days before, not exactly directing it towards Lexa, but rather just speaking her mind. The brunette shook her head and sighed at the question, obviously not amused by Clarke's complaining.

Lexa always seemed to be busy with the same contraptions and machines, despite the fact that nothing had come from the devices besides a few buzzes of static. Clarke was still not positive on what the machines were used for, but didn't ever push the topic, considering the last few times she'd tried, the other girl simply brushed her off.

Today, though, Clarke was feeling especially stir-crazy and, hoping for a distraction, she decided to strike up a conversation with the asocial brunette.

She stared at Lexa from across the room, who wore a look of intense concentration that consisted of forehead wrinkles and squinted eyes. (Clarke secretly enjoyed stealing glances at the girl, though she'd never admit it to herself.)

"I'm guessing you were a mechanic before all of this." The words were out of Clarke's mouth before she had determined if she wanted to say them. Lexa continued looking down at the radio, but her eyes briefly flicked to Clarke before she returned her gaze to her lap.

"Not even close." Lexa responded, taking Clarke by surprise. The most she expected was a scoff or an eye roll, so three words felt like an over-abundance. She waited a moment to see if Lexa would elaborate and spoke again.

"C'mon, you know about my past. Lemme hear yours." Clarke sat up and leaned against the wall behind her. It felt strange referring to her life a few weeks ago as 'the past,' but she brushed off the cold nostalgia that was filling her body.

Lexa did scoff at this, fully looking up from the machine at her legs and narrowing her eyes in probable contemplation. "I know you're a college dropout that likes art." The words stung slightly in Clarke's ears, but she hid her offense with an eye roll. "I could practically be writing your biography." Lexa continued, the smallest of smirks coming to her lips. An involuntary laugh erupted from Clarke's throat and she realized it was probably the first time she laughed since arriving in the shelter. It was also the first genuinely funny remark that Lexa had made, despite it being sarcastic. Lexa's smirk only grew wider at the laughter.

"Well, are you  _ also _ a college dropout that likes art?" Clarke aimed to keep the conversation going, much to Lexa's disdain.

"No, definitely not." There was some level of disgust in the retort, as if the mere idea of Clarke's question was nauseating.

"See, I know you better already!"

The brunette shook her head and took to untangling a few wires that were wrapped around her fingers. The silence that followed was surprisingly comfortable, and, honestly, Clarke knew she should have let the exchange end there, but she was greedy (and bored, and feeling a little courageous).

"I also know you enjoy robbing people in the woods." She looked towards the unloaded crossbow against the wall and uttered the words just loud enough for Lexa to pick up. The brunette hesitated; stopped fiddling with wires for a split second as if Clarke had hit a nerve. The blonde couldn't stop the mischievous smile from spreading across her face. After all, Lexa deserved to get her feathers ruffled considering all the times she'd done the same to Clarke.

Lexa recovered quickly, as expected, pretending to be more focused on her project at hand to distract from the obvious shock that had just blanketed her expression. "You were trespassing with a full bag of food. I saw my chance." The rebuttal was nonchalant. Too nonchalant, in Clarke's opinion. Not only that, but the reply seemed to create more questions in Clarke's head.

"Trespassing? How did I trespass in a  _ forest _ ? Do you, like, own all the trees?" She was looking at Lexa again, who was still deeply invested in the equipment that had made little improvement over the last two weeks.

"Mhm, something like that." Lexa mumbled, the previous smirk returning to her face.

"I don't understand." Clarke voiced her thoughts, pulling Lexa's attention back to the blonde across the room from her. She watched Lexa shrug and let her eyes fall closed, noticeably annoyed by Clarke.

"Why do you  _ want _ to understand?" The girl's eyebrows knitted together as if she was trying to read Clarke, who immediately neutralized her appearance to prevent that from happening.

The query felt like a blow to her chest, causing her heart to beat harder against her ribs, and had her wishing for the lighthearted vibe to return to the room.

Instead, silence engulfed the space between them as Clarke allowed Lexa's words to marinate. If she was being honest with herself, Clarke  _ didn't _ know why she was so interested in learning about Lexa. Something about her was just so captivating-- no, not captivating; Clarke refused to refer to the girl as anything other than mysterious. That's all she was, after all. Just a closed off girl that Clarke happened to be sharing a room with.

Clarke liked to think that she was, mostly, an open book, aside from a few details (generally pertaining to her mother). And she knew from experience, that if Lexa was being unforthcoming, it could only mean that she was hiding something.

Though Clarke wasn't going to force the conversation any longer, she knew that it wouldn't be the last time she'd try to unveil Lexa's secrets.

Until then, she was still consumed by boredom.

"There's nothing to do in here." Clarke grumbled, immediately regretting how immature she sounded. She was fully-aware that she had dodged Lexa's question, but continued to act as if she'd forgotten. Lexa, who was reabsorbed in being a pseudo-mechanic, snorted at Clarke's grievance before pushing her radio aside and standing from her bed. Clarke watched curiously as Lexa reached onto a shelf beside her bed and brushed away a few pieces of paper, revealing a dusty, worn book. She grabbed it by the spine and handed it to Clarke.

To the blonde's disappointment, it was ' _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_ , ' a book that Clarke remembered being assigned to read in high school (she never did read it, deciding she didn't care about failing the assignment).

Despite her dislike of reading in general, Clarke found herself flipping the hard cover open and turning to the first page, without thanking Lexa.

She spent the rest of the day (and night) reading the book. Once finished, she read it again. Four times. In a week. But at least she was less bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, so remember when I said we'd learn more about Lexa? I didn't completely lie... I just couldn't find a good way to incorporate it and every time I tried to, it wasn't coming out right. I need another few days to think of a better idea... sooo we'll try again next week. And I'll try to squeeze in another thousand words or so. 
> 
> Anyways, Leave me your thoughts. I love to read them. See ya' next week!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Despite her dislike of reading in general, Clarke found herself flipping the hard cover open and turning to the first page, without thanking Lexa. 
> 
> She spent the rest of the day (and night) reading the book. Once finished, she read it again. Four times. In a week. But at least she was less bored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! All I can say about this chapter is, Clarke is a little shit. Lots of filler here and most likely in the next chapter, too. But you finally get some answers and I did manage to get this one above the 3,000 word mark. Enjoy!! 
> 
> Side note: one chapter later and the kudos almost doubled! I got a notification saying 49 people left kudos! In one day! Thank you all <3

Boredom seemed to be a reoccurring theme in the bomb shelter, and Clarke soon realized that if she wanted some excitement, she'd have to make some for herself.

She had taken to annoying Lexa in any way she could. At first, she had just been trying to get to know her better, but it soon became apparent that Clarke's incessant questioning only irritated the brunette (and Clarke found the way that Lexa's nose crunched up when she was mad to be a welcome distraction from hours of staring at the wall).

It started with little things, such as blowing out a candle while Lexa was still writing by its light or asking stupid questions that never failed to elicit a reaction from the brunette. But as the days passed, Lexa seemed to grow an immunity to the disturbances, forcing Clarke to up the ante.

'Upping the ante' was never supposed to include snooping through Lexa's cell phone for secrets, but when she saw the unguarded device laying next to the other girl's bed, she couldn't resist.

After silently stealing the phone from the floor beside the sleeping brunette, Clarke rushed to the safety of her own bed, tucking the cell phone under her blanket. She forced herself to count to one hundred before uncovering it, just to be sure that Lexa had fallen back into a deep sleep.

The cell phone was highly outdated and held a multitude of scratches and cracks; a striking contrast to Clarke's phone (the newest model, paid for exclusively by her mother).

Still, it was new enough to have a touchscreen that lit up when Clarke pressed a button at the bottom of the screen. She glanced back at Lexa, relaxing a bit when she found the girl to be fast asleep. Clarke swiped a finger across the screen, a mischievous smile coming to her face when the device unlocked without the need of a passcode.

Her eyes darted around the screen, overwhelmed by all the options she had to look at. She hadn't held a phone in her hand for weeks and the feeling of the cold metal against her palm offered a strange comfort, as if it was her only tie to the outside world.

Pushing her nostalgic feelings aside, Clarke refocused on the screen, her eyes falling on an application labeled 'Text Messages'.

_You're actually going to look through her private messages?_

(The answer was yes. Yes, she was.)

Her heart offered a few thuds of anticipation as her thumb pressed the small icon, opening a list of messages. Oddly, there were only a few conversations filling the list, telling Clarke that Lexa didn't talk to many people (something she had discerned not long after arriving in the shelter).

The most recent conversation was with someone named Costia. When Clarke clicked on the messages, she found them to be in a different language that she assumed to be the one Lexa had been using in the forest. Despite this, there seemed to be a few English words thrown in, and from what Clarke could tell based on the little that she understood, both parties were not happy with one another.

The last messages were sent from Lexa a few weeks ago, telling Clarke that the phone no longer had service. Her stomach dropped at the thought, reminding the blonde that she had no way to contact her mom and find out how she was doing. She shook the idea from her mind, deciding it wasn't the proper time to wallow in her poor decisions.

She briefly checked the other sets of messages-- each written in the same language-- prompting her to click out of the application and search elsewhere.

She already felt corrupt for snooping through Lexa's messages, but when her finger hovered over the 'Photos' icon, she knew she was about to reach her peak of sleaziness.

Again, her heart protested with heavy thumps against her ribs, but she ignored the warning and proceeded to open the application, anyways. After all, Lexa had looked through Clarke's sketchbook, so this was just getting even.

Immediately, her eyes were met with a dozen or so photos lined up side by side. She tapped the first one and scrolled through a few uninteresting pictures before landing on one that made her breath catch in her throat.

The image was of two girls, one who Clarke barely recognized to be Lexa. The, usually scowling, brunette was sporting an uncharacteristic face. Her tongue was stuck out and one eye was closed, mirroring the other girl in the picture. For a moment, Clarke even wondered if Lexa wasn't the asocial narcissist that her normal facade seemed to portray.

She averted her attention to the other girl in the picture, who was leaning very close to Lexa, Clarke noticed-- not that she minded, she just noticed. The girl had short, curly hair and dark skin that made Lexa's tan look pale in comparison. Both girls appeared happy and, again, Clarke had to look back and forth between the picture and Lexa to confirm it was actually her.

She slid her finger up the screen, mostly meaning to wipe some dust from the phone away, but was met with an entirely different screen, reading 'Details'. She quickly skimmed the words, but stopped when her eyes found a piece of information that made a metaphoric lightbulb go off in her head.

_Location: Trikru Native American Reserve._

And then it all made sense.

The forest, the language, the tattoos; Clarke almost felt incompetent for not being able to figure it out herself.

She clicked the off-button on the top of the device and sighed shakily, needing a moment to process the new-found information.

When she noticed Lexa stirring in bed, she couldn't help but stare at the brunette as if she was an entirely new person. Clarke knew it was stupid-- she knew that Lexa wouldn't wake up any less irritated than she had gone to bed-- but somehow Clarke felt closer to her.

However, she promptly remembered that the phone she was still holding didn't belong in her hands and stood from her blankets, careful not to make any noise.

She returned the phone to its original place, but not without holding a gaze at Lexa, sending a mix of indescribable emotions rushing through her veins.

 

* * *

 

Along with immense boredom came hunger, though Clarke was never sure which of the two fueled the other. Lexa always seemed to think that Clarke's hunger came solely from the need to occupy herself, but the growling coming from below Clarke's ribcage had different ideas.

Clarke found herself in the same position as she was a few nights previous, staring at one of Lexa's belongings from across the room, wondering how she could obtain it without waking the brunette.

But this time, there was more incentive for Clarke, because laying carelessly above Lexa's pillow was a set of shiny keys (which usually resided in the girl's pocket), glimmering in the candlelight as if they were trying to entice Clarke into taking them for herself.

It had been approximately twenty days (if her calculations were correct) since Clarke had been sealed inside the room and needless to say, it had taken a toll on her.

Her clothes had stopped clinging as well to her as they used to, mostly from her small intake of food. Her body constantly itched, leaving her wishing for a shower to clean the grime building up on her skin. The probable fresh air outside left her lungs aching for a taste-- a breath of _anything_ that didn't smell of mold and sewage, though she'd been smelling it for so long that it almost didn't faze her anymore.

Lexa didn't make the situation any better. She never complained about their current condition, making Clarke envious of her composure.

Perhaps it was all in Clarke's head, but she could _swear_ that Lexa always took more food for herself than she gave to the blonde. That _had_ to be the reason that Lexa was never hungry. How else could the girl not look a pound skinnier than when they had first met?

The thought of having a third meal (they generally only ate two) almost made Clarke drool. And the lock on the cabinet was the only thing stopping her. She watched as Lexa's breathing grew slow and shallow, her brown hair resting gently on her cheek. (Again, Clarke found herself jealous of how the girl managed to look decent after weeks of not showering, while Clarke was sure that her own hair probably resembled that of a matted lion's mane.)

Clarke knew that if she was going to make a move, she needed to do it soon, considering Lexa could wake at any moment. So, nervously standing from her bed, she padded across the floor on the balls of her feet, eyes glued to the brunette, watching for any signs that she might be waking up.

When Clarke was standing over Lexa's bed, she inspected the two keys on the chain. She knew that she needed to grab one key in each hand to ensure that they wouldn't clink together when she lifted them, but being so close to the brunette suddenly gave her cold feet.

_If she wakes up--_

Clarke didn't finish the thought, partially because she didn't want to think of what Lexa would do if she found Clarke stealing the keys, and partially because Clarke didn't know what _she_ would do if Lexa found her stealing the keys. After all, Lexa was taller, stronger, and more intimidating than Clarke and the blonde knew that getting caught could be a death sentence.

The image of Lexa that Clarke had seen on the cell phone suddenly appeared in her thoughts, and her previous fear of the brunette dissipated, because how could something that cute kill her?

She shook the idea from her head completely (mostly because she had just referred to the girl in front of her as _cute_ ) and glanced between Lexa and the keys a few times before extending both hands towards the glistening metal.

Somehow, the keys ended up in her grasp silently. Clarke backed away steadily, letting out a breath she wasn't aware of holding when she was far enough from the brunette. When she turned to face away from Lexa, her eyes locked onto the cabinet in front of her. She changed her grip on the chain, allowing the key she wasn't using to dangle freely from her hand.

Her teeth clenched when the key hit the lock, making her send a look towards Lexa, but she relaxed when she found the girl to still be sound asleep.

The lock clicked open and she could barely contain her excitement when she unsealed the cabinet and revealed a substantial pile of food laying next to a full backpack. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she peered into the open bag and all but gasped when she saw a powdered white snack cake peeking out from under a few bags of chips. Her mind briefly flashed back to when she had embarrassingly binged on the same food before arriving at the shelter. Still, she felt giddiness bubble inside her as she dipped her hand into the bag and pulled out the cake, doing her best to rip the plastic cover off without drawing the attention of the brunette.

The first bite was pure bliss. Her eyes involuntarily fell shut and she had to hold back a moan that was building in her throat. The second bite was just as great, persuading her to hold the treat out in front of her, as to admire its beauty.

This proved to be a bad move when a hand wrapped around the arm holding the snack cake and spun her around, pushing her against the wall until she was pinned against the cement behind her. She looked up to see Lexa's deeply angered face inches from her own.

"What are you doing?" The brunette growled and if looks alone could kill, Clarke would already be six feet under. Despite this, Clarke felt oddly at ease (except for the apparent electricity running from the warmth of Lexa's hand where it grasped Clarke's wrist).

"Eating," was all Clarke managed to mutter through her mouthful of cake. This reply only further fueled Lexa's anger. Clarke felt the grip on her wrist tighten significantly, pulling a gasp from her lungs and making her face twist in discomfort. The look was enough for Lexa to loosen her fingers, while still holding the blonde's arm against the wall.

Again, the picture of Lexa with her tongue out flickered through her thoughts, alleviating some of the fear that was building in Clarke's body.

"You stole my keys?" Lexa asked, a degree of betrayal playing through her words.

"You stole my snack cakes." Clarke answered, holding her chin up to preserve any bit of boldness that she had left.

Lexa seemed taken aback by the sarcastic response, boosting Clarke's courage even further-- far enough for her to feel confident in using her unpinned hand to reach for the snack cake while Lexa was distracted.

However, the brunette was not as preoccupied as Clarke had assumed and snatched Clarke's key-holding hand from the air, pushing it against the wall in the same fashion as the other arm.

Suddenly, the two girls were even closer--the closest they had ever been before-- and Clarke couldn't help but feel as if the oxygen had been sucked from between them. She swallowed the food in her mouth (along with a lump in her throat). Her eyes flicked from the strikingly green eyes to pursed, pink lips, deciding they were less threatening than the fire growing behind the wide pupils. Clarke forced herself to reestablish eye contact, though, refusing to let Lexa scare her.

"There's a reason why _I_ keep the keys." Lexa said through gritted teeth and, for a split second, the brunette released her hold on one of Clarke's wrists and pulled the keys from the blonde's hand. After letting the keychain fall back to their original place in her pocket, her face relaxed and she fully let go of Clarke's arms.

Unsure of what the gesture meant, Clarke testily raised the snack cake to her mouth, only to watch Lexa's face return to its former aggressive state, telling her that it was not a smart idea.

Hanging her head in defeat, Clarke dropped her hands to her side and sulked back to the cabinet, placing the half-eaten dessert back in the backpack, and shutting the cupboard when she'd finished. When she turned around, Lexa had already begun walking back to her bed.

But Clarke couldn't let the infuriating brunette have the last word again-- she just _couldn't_.

"Maybe if you fed me more," Clarke muttered under her breath, knowing the comment was unnecessary and immature.

"Maybe if you didn't eat so much," Lexa immediately shot back, sending hot rage through Clarke's cheeks. Unsure of how to respond, she forced herself to keep her composure, allowing the room to fall silent. _Someone has to be the bigger person._

Biting her tongue, Clarke crossed her arms and started towards her own bed.

"And if you ever do that again," Lexa continued, her voice trailing off, leaving the threat open for interpretation.

_That's it._ Suddenly, 'being the bigger person' sounded much less appealing. Because when it came to someone as irritating as Lexa, all Clarke wanted to do was return some of the constant annoyance that was being given to her.

"What? You'll kill me?" Clarke's voice was much louder than it had been a few minutes prior. She was facing the brunette again, without realizing she had turned.

Lexa's expression mimicked one of confusion, as to show that Clarke had asked an idiotic question. The dark green eyes moved between Clarke and a familiar crossbow leaning ominously beside Lexa's bed.

It was too predictable. Of course Lexa would threaten the blonde with a weapon when all else failed. Her head hurt from how hard she rolled her eyes at Lexa.

"You know, I've never actually seen you shoot that thing." Clarke pushed. Lexa shook her head and kept walking, unable to be bothered by Clarke's accusations. Something about Lexa's apathy only made Clarke want to continue talking. "I bet that thing is just for show. You probably dont even know how to shoot it." She finished, her voice raising gradually.

The comment must have hit the right nerve in Lexa's body, because she stopped dead in her tracks and clenched her fists until the knuckles were white. Perhaps Lexa was truly offended by her words, or maybe she was just desperate to shut Clarke up, but in an instant, the brunette was grabbing the crossbow beside her bed and aiming it at Clarke.

Partially paralyzed from fear, Clarke backed up until her back had returned to the wall behind her, breathing heavily and shivering as the brunette raised the weapon to eye-level.

Clarke's thoughts raced. Her jaw had slackened, prepared to speak, but no words came out. What was there to say?

_Just apologize._

No, she couldn't apologize. She was finally starting to show some assertion towards the brunette and she refused to let it all go to waste.

_You'd rather die than take a blow to your reputation?_

Yeah, she would, at this point.

As a last ditch effort to keep her cool, she brought the silly picture of Lexa back to her thoughts, hoping it would give her some confidence.

_She wouldn't kill you._ Clarke determined, referring to the girl in the picture, rather than the one standing in front of her, despite her knowledge that they were the same person. _Just don't show any fear. Stand your ground._

This advice was lost to her when she heard a click and the sound of an arrow whizzing just past her ear, making her flinch and let out a pathetic yelp.

Miraculously, the pain didn't come, and when she looked to her right, she found the tip of the arrow to be lodged in the wall, less than an inch from her face. It had obviously been meant to narrowly miss Clarke's face, proving that her aim was precise enough to do so.

She turned her attention to Lexa, who was smiling triumphantly.

Clarke neutralized her expression, wiping it clean of the fear that it had just held. Lexa was already returning the crossbow to her bedside and taking a seat on top of the mattress. The brunette pulled the covers over her legs and fell onto her side, facing away from Clarke.

Suddenly feeling much safer, Clarke allowed her muscles to relax.

"You missed," she grumbled, hopefully only loud enough for herself to hear. Lexa didn't respond, prompting Clarke to trudge to her bed, plopping down on the blankets and laying back on her pillow, her heart still racing.

Needless to say, she didn't get any breakfast in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Hmm, how will Costia play into this whole story....? I guess we'll all have to wait and see. I really liked writing this chapter, which is probably why I wrote it in 2 days. And those two days might have been Saturday and Sunday. What can I say? I work best under pressure. 
> 
> Also, completely unrelated , if you're looking for a good, new show to watch, check out Emerald City. It's only four episodes in and I'm hooked!! It's a Wizard of Oz spin-off and usually I'm not big on fantasy shows, but wow. 
> 
> Leave some feedback! I love to see how everyone is liking this so far. See ya' soon!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: 
> 
> "You missed," she grumbled, hopefully only loud enough for herself to hear. Lexa didn't respond, prompting Clarke to trudge to her bed, plopping down on the blankets and laying back on her pillow, her heart still racing. 
> 
> Needless to say, she didn't get any breakfast in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know what you're thinking. Callie, why aren't you capable of writing a chapter longer than 3000 words? well the answer to that is: because I always wait until the last two days before starting to write! I know, I know. Go ahead, yell at me in the comments. But maybe this incredibly short chapter will make up for it. Probably not, because it's just a whole buncha filler. Maybe you're into that idk. If you read this chapter really slow, you could probably make it seem longer. Okay, I suck. Hope you enjoy it anyways. 
> 
> Also, that superbowl last night was terrible. I'm still not over it. But at least lindsey morgan made a one second appearance in a commercial. I lived for that.

Thunder. Clarke heard thunder. Or another round of bombs. She wasn't sure which one was more likely. Was it even possible for it to rain anymore? Clarke assumed that destroying the world would take weather with it, but perhaps she was wrong. After all, she wasn't an expert in post-apocalyptic weather patterns.

Silence returned as abruptly as it was broken, making Clarke question if she had even heard anything at all. After three weeks in an enclosed space, Clarke wouldn't be surprised if her sanity was slipping. She'd heard of astronauts going crazy after long stays in space ships, so the idea of Clarke beginning to hear things wasn't totally unlikely.

The room was so dim, Clarke could barely see the outline of her hand, much less, the skylight on the roof. Even if she had been able to, she knew the ash covering it would impede her view of the outdoors.

Clarke sat up in bed, being sure to wrap her blanket tightly around her shoulders to prevent the cold air from seeping in, just as another rumble shook the walls around her.

It sounded too real to be a figment of her imagination, but she still wasn't convinced.

"Lexa," she half-whispered, clutching her shivering legs to her chest. "Did you hear that?"

She heard the brunette hum a confirmation in response, still sounding groggy from sleep. Clarke's hands frantically patted the ground until her fingers landed on a small package of matches. She blindly pulled open the box and took out a single match, striking it on the box. Fire illuminated the space in front of her, allowing her to easily find a candle and light it.

"What is it?" Clarke wondered aloud, just as another deep growl shook the floor. Before Lexa had the chance to reply, the sound of water drops pelting the roof answered Clarke's question.

It was raining-- no, _pouring_.

Clarke had never been scared of thunderstorms before, but found herself gasping quietly at the noise. The initial shock didn't last long, her eyes falling shut at the surprisingly relaxing sounds.

When she opened them again, the room seemed brighter than before, and when she looked up to the source of the light, she found it to be coming from the skylight.

The rain was washing the ash away.

Clarke was running to stand under the window before she had decided she wanted to. Streaks ran down the glass, making way for the dull light to slip in. The navy blue sky told Clarke it wasn't quite morning. She spun around to look at Lexa, who had seemingly fallen back to sleep. Clarke felt a tugging in her chest; a temptation to wake the girl so she could share the exciting moment with her. She resisted, remembering how angry the girl could get.

The frigid air hit her within seconds and she pulled her arms around her stomach to hold some heat.

The shelter was getting colder by the day and, by the looks of it, winter hadn't even arrived. The thought of the room getting _even colder_ was almost enough to make Clarke want to give up and let the inevitable hypothermia take her.

Shaking the idea from her thoughts, she continued to stare out the window, watching heavy drops pelt the glass. The rain made her crave to step outside and rinse off, but the idea of radiation-soaked rain (rain-soaked radiation?) dissuaded her from the craving.

Still, she stood under the skylight until the sky cleared, leaving a path of pink and yellow in its wake. And Clarke was mesmerized. Something about the deep blue-gray clouds and the bright orange sun peeking around them made it impossible for her to look away. For a moment, Clarke wondered if the nuclear bombs had somehow altered the way that the sunrise appeared (or if she'd just never been awake early enough in her nineteen years of life to see an actual sunrise).

From what Clarke could see through the taped window, trees were no longer a large part of the forest. Instead, burnt branches and leaves replaced them, giving the scene in front of her an eerily depressing vibe. The curiosity of what was on the other side of the vault door was enough to make Clarke involuntarily reach out and wrap her fingers around a step on the ladder, only to tug her hand away as if the metal was hot.

_You can't do that._ She reminded herself. But, god she wanted to.

The sound of Lexa stirring behind her broke Clarke from her silent debate. Chiming keys followed the noise, pulling the blonde's attention to the emptiness in her gut. Despite this, she held the sun's gaze, unable to tear her eyes away.

Clarke could hear Lexa's feet plodding towards her after a few minutes of rummaging through the food cabinet, and she sighed when she knew the brunette was directly behind her.

"When can we get out of here?" Clarke asked. It was meant as a question for herself, mostly (okay, not mostly. Truly, she hoped to get an estimated answer from the girl, which was stupid, considering it took her a whole week to even get the girl to say her name), but when Lexa appeared in front of her carrying two cans of fruit and spoons, she expected her to answer it.

"Don't know," she replied, her voice groggy and hoarse, as it always was when she first woke up. Only when the brunette held the can of food out for Clarke to take, did she avert her eyes from the sunrise to accept the can and utensil. But her gaze landed, instead, on Lexa's face, as she mindlessly grabbed the can and took in the other girl's appearance.

And maybe it was the colors of the sunrise reflecting off her already colorful eyes, or the way her tangled hair fell around her cheeks, which were slightly puffy from sleep, but Clarke suddenly felt as if the sunrise was lackluster compared to the girl in front of her. Lexa was very pretty, no matter how hard Clarke tried to deny it.

Forcing herself to stop staring (because it was getting awkward and Lexa was starting to show her well-known expression that said 'stop staring at me as if you've just discovered a new species'), Clarke brought her focus to the canned fruit in her hand, trying to remember what Lexa had just said.

When she did, she felt a bit of annoyance bubble inside her (but when didn't she feel that annoyance when talking to the brunette?). She hated the fact that Lexa acted as if she could care less about leaving the shelter-- as if she was perfectly satisfied with rotting in a moldy, underground room.

Clarke all but gaped at the girl, who took to leaning against the ladder, scooping a spoonful of peach and pear cubes into her mouth nonchalantly.

"Don't you _want_ to get out of here?" It sounded more like an accusation than Clarke had intended. Unable to bring her eyes back to Lexa's face, Clarke took a bite of her fruit, trying not to grimace when she noticed how tinny they tasted.

The position they stood in felt strange, both leaning against the ladder, barely any space between them. It left Clarke wishing to back away, just to reestablish some distance. She remained still, however, when she saw the brunette's face fall at the question. Lexa shrugged, staring into her can and stirring the spoon inside it.

"There's no one out there waiting for you?" Again, Clarke didn't intend for it to sound so much like an accusation. Her mind was filled with the picture of Lexa and the other girl that she had seen a few days ago. Surely, that girl was waiting for Lexa on the outside.

Clarke was met with another shrug.

"Anyone out there is dead." Lexa muttered, catching the blonde off guard. The statement made Clarke feel sick.

Clarke knew Lexa was a bit of a pessimist, but her especially dark attitude still surprised her.

She refused the believe it. She refused to believe that everyone was dead outside of the room they were in. But more importantly, she rejected the idea because she didn't want to believe that the, possibly, last time she saw her mom was filled with arguing and anger.

Clarke forced herself to refocus on the sunrise, feeling like it was the only thing keeping her from insanity, the possibility that her mom might be staring at it too leaving a warm feeling in her chest that she never wanted to lose.

 

* * *

 

"But you have three blankets!" Clarke found herself whining as the brunette across from her worked tediously on the radio-like machine.

"And I plan to keep it that way." Lexa responded, disinterest lingering in her voice. If Lexa hadn't been so absorbed in the collection of wires and buttons, she would have seen a disgruntled pout on Clarke's face.

"But if I get one more, then we both have two and--" Clarke started to explain, only to be cut off by one of Lexa's signature groans.

"It doesn't have to be fair, Clarke." She interrupted, making the blonde jump at the sound of her name being spat at her.

And she was right. It didn't _have_ to be fair, but that didn't mean it _shouldn't_ be.

Familiar aggravation pulsed through Clarke's veins, prompting her eyes to narrow at the girl's words.

She was about to break into a long rebuttal about how she needed to stay warm, too, but waited when a series of sparks erupted from the wires tangled around Lexa's hand, causing a string of profanities to fall from the brunette's lips.

Clarke was standing and rushing to the mattress in seconds, already contemplating what could have happened to Lexa's hand and how she could fix it.

For a moment, the blonde felt somewhat pleased that Lexa was hurt, preventing their previous argument from escalating even further, but wiped that complacency from her mind when she saw how much pain the brunette appeared to be in.

"Are you okay?" She asked, crouching down to be at eye level with the injury. Lexa was still whispering laments, holding the singed hand to her chest.

"I'm fine," Lexa growled through gritted teeth, obviously putting up a facade. Clarke was unconvinced and reached out to grab Lexa's wrist anyway, careful not to squeeze too hard. Thankfully, Lexa allowed her hand to be pulled from her chest, but still clenched her fist, hiding the wound from Clarke's view.

"Let me see it." Clarke said quietly, glancing from the injury to Lexa and back. Something about holding Lexa's wrist made her heart race, and being so close to the brunette only made it beat faster.

When Lexa finally unclenched her fist, Clarke couldn't help but gasp at the red, blistering skin on the inside of her hand. She immediately let go of the burnt hand and stood up, frantically looking around the room until her eyes fell on a small white box with a red cross and the words 'first aid' printed on top. When the box was in her grasp, she returned to Lexa's side, pulling open the box and grabbing anything that looked useful.

Clarke knew vaguely how to treat burns, but said treatments weren't options if she wanted to preserve their limited resources.

So, working with what she had, Clarke untwisted the cap on a small tube of ointment and emptied a generous amount over the line of reddened skin. She gently spread the cream, watching Lexa maintain her stoic exterior as she did so. Clarke opened a few packages of gauze and layered it on top, holding it in place with one hand and unraveling a piece of tape with the other.

Once the gauze was securely taped in place, Clarke let go of Lexa's wrist and returned her gaze to the girl's eyes.

"You should really be wearing gloves." Clarke lectured, still crouching beside the bed. Lexa simply rolled her eyes and tugged the hand away, already starting to work on the contraption again. "Have you even made any progress on that?" Clarke continued, unsure of what she should refer to the machine as. She regretted asking as soon as she spoke, and made a mental note to start thinking more before she spoke.

"No, and your constant questions aren't helping." Lexa spat, twisting a dial back and forth on the top of the radio.

Deciding she should take the remark as her cue to leave, Clarke stood and turned to walk away.

"Thanks for fixing my hand, Clarke. You're welcome, Lexa." She sighed, filling in the conversation for herself. Lexa's always angry personality was starting to grow old and it left Clarke wishing that she was trapped in a room with _anyone else_ besides the cold brunette.

She was expecting to hear a scoff at her previous utterance, but was met, instead, by the sound of white noise spilling from the radio.

But this sound was different than the usual static that the machine produced. This sound was laced with other indiscernible syllables. Syllables so muffled and choppy that Clarke almost doubted that she was hearing them correctly. But when she did realize what she was listening to, her stomach jumped to her throat.

She was hearing words. Someone was talking. And even better, someone was _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooa, things are about to get crazy. I swear Lexa will start being less of an asshole very soon. Not that much less, but maybe she'll just start to tolerate Clarke a little more. Hey, you asked for slow burn. 
> 
> By the way, your guys' comments actually make me smile so hard. If you've ever left a comment, just know that I've probably read it so much that I have it memorized. That's not weird, haha. Seriously though, comments and kudos make my day. Lots of love to you all! Hope you liked this!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: She was expecting to hear a scoff at her previous utterance, but was met, instead, by the sound of white noise spilling from the radio. 
> 
> But this sound was different than the usual static that the machine produced. This sound was laced with other indiscernible syllables. Syllables so muffled and choppy that Clarke almost doubted that she was hearing them correctly. But when she did realize what she was listening to, her stomach jumped to her throat. 
> 
> She was hearing words. Someone was talking. And even better, someone was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! This fic has over 3,000 hits, over 350 kudos, and 50 comments!!! You guys are soooo awesome and I am incredibly thankful for all the support. Enjoy this chapter (which is over 3,000 words!) as a thank you!

"Lexa, do you know what this means?" Clarke paced the floor, her mind racing with thoughts and ideas.

Lexa responded with something along the lines of "I hope it means you're going to stop talking," but Clarke decided to ignore that for the sake of her sanity. It was far too early to start arguing with Lexa. (She did sneak in an eye roll when Lexa wasn't looking, because it felt necessary.)

"People are _alive_ out there! That means we could be, too!" Clarke emphasized, hoping to draw the brunette's attention, but when she looked back towards Lexa, her head was buried in her hands and an irritated groan was rumbling from her throat. Lexa ran her fingers through her oily hair before bringing her eyes to Clarke's.

"We're not leaving, Clarke." She decided for the both of them, much to the blonde's dismay. She paused her pacing and glared at Lexa.

"Why not?" Her arms automatically crossed over her chest in defense.

"We don't know if it's safe out there." Lexa explained, clicking what looked like a power button on the radio to turn it off.

"Someone is out there. That means it _has_ to be safe." Clarke reiterated, uncrossing her arms to point at the skylight.

"We don't know that for sure." Now Lexa was just being stubborn and Clarke made sure to mimic Lexa's previous groan to call attention to this obstinance.

"How do we not?"

Lexa was far past her patience for the conversation, resulting in another run of her fingers over her scalp. "What if they're in a shelter, like us?" She suggested. Clarke couldn't deny the possibility, but a gut feeling told her the brunette was wrong. "We can't even be sure what those sounds were." Her voice slowly faded as she turned to the radio and placed it on the ground, only making Clarke more angered.

"Turn the radio back on so we can figure it out!" Clarke's voice was steadily rising, a striking contrast to Lexa's calm tone. The brunette only shook her head and sighed.

"We have food. We have water. We have shelter. We're not leaving." The words were final, but Clarke wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Then I am."

Lexa snorted at this, an amused smile coming to her face as she leaned back in her bed. Clarke knew that her own words were empty; she would never go out alone in the post-apocalyptic world. She barely survived being alone _before_ the bombs, though she might have survived longer if Lexa hadn't robbed her of her resources.

"I'd like to see you try." Lexa challenged, bringing a red tint to Clarke's cheeks, because, yet again, Lexa was right. Even if Clarke wanted to leave, Lexa's crossbow could probably shoot a lot faster than Clarke could climb the ladder.

"You can't hold me hostage here." It felt more like a question to the brunette, rather than a protest against her.

"Yes, I can." And Lexa was smiling-- _smirking_ , as if she was getting some sort of pleasure out of her obvious control over the blonde.

Clarke's blood was boiling (and if it hadn't been for the fact that Lexa's smile was stirring something that felt like butterflies in her stomach, Clarke would have gone right up to the cocky brunette just to punch her right in those high cheekbones).

Since punching the girl was not an intelligent option, Clarke settled on turning to the bathroom bucket and allowing her foot to collide with it, the kick sending it loudly into the wall. Along with the clank of metal against cement, Clarke added in a yell through gritted teeth that was an even mix of various profanities and growls. It didn't help with much of her pent up anger (and only sent a surge of pain through her toes).

Apparently, it wasn't too early to start arguing with Lexa.

 

* * *

 

Lexa never slept in longer than Clarke. Never. She was always out of bed as soon as the sun made its appearance over the skylight and Clarke would wake minutes later to the sound of food being brought to her bed. So when Clarke woke up to the growling in her stomach, rather than the unlocking of the food cabinet, she knew something wasn't right.

She sat upright and rubbed the blurriness from her eyes, surprised when she saw the brunette, tucked cozily under her blankets.

Her surprise only heightened when she noticed that a strange noise was coming from the girl. Lexa was snoring-- quietly, but snoring nonetheless-- and Clarke had to push her hand against her mouth to prevent the laugh that was threatening to escape it.

It had been a few days since their discovery on the radio and, much to Clarke's disappointment, Lexa refused to turn the device on, probably just to annoy the blonde.

Had she not been so thrown by the strange set of circumstances, she might have attempted to steal the radio and turn it on for herself, but something told her that plan would go just as well as her previous plan to steal food, if not worse. Either way, the rumbling below her ribs outweighed any other desire to cause mischief.

Still, Clarke couldn't say that the idea of waking the brunette was exactly appealing. After the radio incident, the two girls had fallen quiet in a silent protest against one another. And Clarke would almost rather starve than be the first to crack. Almost.

Giving in to her growing hunger, Clarke trudged to where Lexa lay in her bed, immediately wishing she had chosen to stay in the warmth of her own blankets.

"Lexa," she said. The name still felt foreign from her lips, evoking an odd feeling to fill her body.

A sharp intake of breath (that sounded too much like a snore for Clarke to hold back a smile) indicated that Clarke's voice had its expected impact. She could see Lexa beginning to doze off again, so she repeated herself.

This time, Lexa only mumbled something too muffled by her pillow and her grogginess for Clarke to understand, and rolled over to face away from the blonde. Clarke narrowed her eyes at this, knowing that, usually, Lexa was wide awake at the sound of a pin dropping. The fact that she was resisting-- no, _avoiding_ \-- waking up only made Clarke more suspicious.

"I'm hungry." She explained, fiddling with her thumbs just for the sake of breaking up the awkwardness consuming her. She hated how much control Lexa had over her; hated how she was basically incompetent without the brunette.

Lexa responded with a throaty whimper before reaching under her blanket and rummaging around for the keys. Clarke felt the slight need to apologize to Lexa for waking her-- especially after the pitiful noise she just made-- but quickly pushed the feeling away.

The keys were revealed above the covers and Clarke stepped back, thinking that Lexa would be standing up, but realized she was wrong when the other girl tossed the keys from her grasp, in Clarke's direction.

Clarke was perplexed, again, at the uncharacteristic behavior. Just days ago, Lexa was threatening Clarke's life for opening the food cabinet, but now, she throws the keys to her as if it's nothing? Clarke couldn't help but wonder if the gesture was a test. Lexa had to be testing her.

There was a brief moment where Clarke wondered if she should take advantage of the situation and gorge herself on as much as she could without Lexa noticing, but decided she didn't want history to repeat itself. Plus, did she really want to sabotage the sudden trust being bestowed upon her? Definitely not, if it meant her life would be the slightest bit less annoying.

_I guess it's time to take the higher road._

Clarke bent down to where the keys had fallen against the cement and took them in her hands, unable to stop the anxiety that came with them, considering the last time she grabbed the keys, it ended with an arrow inches from her face.

Opening the cabinet only created more confusion in Clarke's head of endless questions.

In the end, she decided to grab a couple bags of chips, unsure if the snoring brunette across the room would even want to eat. She returned to Lexa's bedside and cleared her throat to bring attention to her presence, placing the keys and a bag of chips on the empty part of her bed.

Lexa rolled to face Clarke again and opened her eyes for what Clarke guessed to be the first time that morning. Clarke had already returned to her bed by the time Lexa was sitting up and stretching her arms. Clarke couldn't help but stare as she opened the aluminum bag in her lap, noticing how toned Lexa's arms looked when she tensed them.

"Chips?" Lexa croaked, raising one eyebrow at the blonde (said blonde was just thankful that Lexa broke her from her embarrassing thoughts).

Clarke simply shrugged and pushed one of the chips into her mouth. Because, if Lexa was unhappy with Clarke's choices, she could get something different. After all, she had round-the-clock access to any food she wanted, unlike Clarke.

The girls ate in silence, Lexa nibbling on the chips at a much slower rate than the blonde. Clarke could tell that something was off about Lexa, but brushed it off, contributing it to the fact that times were getting tough in the shelter.

They were down to their last three gallons of water and the food in the cabinet was slowly but surely diminishing. Clarke always felt on edge, willing to give anything to talk to anyone besides Lexa (not that they talked much anyway).

Still, Clarke wondered if Lexa was being _too_ quiet. Perhaps the brunette was still participating in their 'silent treatment' game. But it wasn't just the lack of conversation that confused Clarke. Something about Lexa's overall appearance seemed so unusual. From the way her eyes sat, barely open, to the way her back hunched over, a blanket draped loosely over her shoulders. It just seemed weird.

Clarke finished her chips before her stomach felt satisfied, but held back the urge to ask for more food. Meanwhile, Lexa had probably eaten five chips, if that.

The brunette abruptly pushed the bag away and stood from her bed, walking unsteadily across the room. Clarke assumed it must have been the lighting, but Lexa suddenly looked pale and Clarke could swear she saw her shivering. Her eyes followed Lexa until she was standing over the bathroom bucket, telling Clarke she should look away.

Clarke busied herself by folding the aluminum bag into the smallest square possible, unfolding it, and repeating. Not exactly the most exciting activity, but at least it kept her mind off of the confusing events of the morning. That is, until the sound of choking and something (Clarke did _not_ want to know what) splattering against metal.

Clarke's hands froze, mid-fold, but she didn't look towards Lexa, afraid to violate the privacy of the girl's bathroom affairs.

However, the sound of more coughing made her decide that the privacy wasn't all that important.

Averting her attention to the bucket, Clarke found Lexa to be bending over, holding her hair back, as she vomited into the makeshift toilet.

And that made Clarke feel like doing the same.

Radiation was the first word to flash through her thoughts, rendering her speechless and fearful. She found herself unable to move as Lexa started back towards the other side of the room, holding her head in her hands.

When she was finally seated again, Clarke came to her senses and opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off by Lexa talking first.

"The food from last night must've been spoiled." She mumbled, attempting to answer the question they were both wondering, but failing to hide the worry coating her words. Clarke can't blame Lexa for being afraid. If it truly was radiation, Lexa could be dead in days.

The thought was enough to make Clarke stand up, ready to return to Lexa's bedside for the second time that morning.

"Clarke," Lexa growled before she could walk forward. Her tone was demanding, but Clarke could still hear the previous fear and she acted on it.

"Is anything else wrong? Or just the nausea?" Clarke asked before she reached the spot where Lexa sat. The brunette let out a gravelly sigh, obviously wishing Clarke would leave her alone. But it was too late; Clarke was already in full doctor-mode.

"Well, you're definitely giving me a headache." Lexa jeered, though the typical sting that always seemed to accompany her jibes was lost to Clarke. Instead, the remark came out more like a whine than an insult, making it hard to sound offensive.

Clarke wracked her brain for the symptoms of radiation sickness, hoping that none of Lexa's symptoms reflected that of someone exposed to radiation.

_Nausea, vomiting, headache, fatigue, fever._

Clarke tilted Lexa's chin up and rested her wrist against the brunette's forehead so fast, she wondered if she had given the girl whiplash. Thankfully, the only discomfort displayed on Lexa's face seemed to be from the surprise of having Clarke's wrist on her face.

Clarke was shocked, too, her eyes flicking between Lexa's amazingly green eyes and the spot where her arm was pressed. The intense warmth emanating from the girl's forehead reminded Clarke of the task at hand.

Her heart sank when she realized that the amount of heat she felt was far too much to be considered normal. She definitely had a fever.

Five out of five. Lexa checked off all five symptoms. Even though the given symptoms could be caused by any number if ailments, Clarke didn't feel any less worried.

Lexa must have noticed the disappointment spread across Clarke's face, prompting her to turn her face away from the blonde's touch.

"I'm fine." Lexa stated, though it was unclear who she was trying to convince. If she was trying to assure Clarke, it definitely wasn't working.

Clarke could feel the beginning of tears pricking her eyes, and she turned away, not wanting Lexa to see the tears.

"If this was radiation, you'd be sick too." Lexa continued, probably noticing the blonde's sudden change in mood (Clarke made a mental note to stop being so, damn readable).

She supposed Lexa was right in her logic, but that didn't stop the lingering feeling of worry that filled her stomach.

She couldn't bare to think of losing Lexa. Because even though Clarke hated her snide comments and bitterness, the brunette was all she had left, and Clarke refused to lose her, too.

 

* * *

 

The day seemed to crawl by after breakfast. Lexa seemed to only have an interest in sleeping, leaving Clarke to her own devices, not that any other given day was much different. Still, Clarke knew that the sluggish pace of the day was largely contributed to the fact that her eyes never left the brunette for longer than a few seconds. And staring at the rise and fall of Lexa's chest was proving to be a terrible pastime.

When dinner finally offered a break in her current activities, Clarke retrieved the keys from Lexa (the task filled with approximately the same amount of groans as that morning) for the second time. The keys continued to evoke an uneasy feeling inside her, as if holding them alone could make Lexa angry.

She unlocked the cabinet, anyway, rummaging through the mess of food until her hand wrapped around the label of a can that gave her an idea.

_Chicken noodle soup._

Along with the can, she grabbed herself a couple stale pastries (Lexa would usually only give her one, but why not test the boundaries) and snacked on them as she worked on opening the canned soup. A job that would be much easier if a can opener was present, but since it wasn't, a fork would have to do.

After loads of banging the end of the utensil into the can (and many complaints from Lexa for Clarke to 'shut up' with a few choice words sprinkled in), the lid popped off, and revealed the soup inside.

Clarke walked the food to Lexa's bed and sat on the edge, waiting for Lexa to roll over and face her.

"It'd be better if it was warm, but you should eat some." Clarke said nonchalantly. She knew it was probably a bad idea, considering Lexa hadn't been able to keep down food since the day before, but she did it anyway, hoping Lexa would find some kindness in the gesture.

The brunette rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes, covering her mouth as a yawn escaped it, before lifting her head and staring at the contents of Clarke's hands.

"It'll just end up in the bucket. We shouldn't be wasting food." Lexa explained groggily, propping herself up on her elbows. Clarke almost wanted to be mad at the girl for not accepting the food, but held back, knowing that Lexa was just trying to do what was best for the both of them.

Regardless, Clarke continued to push the subject.

"You haven't had anything to eat today," she started. Lexa opened her mouth the protest, but Clarke cut her off. "And it's not a waste if it helps you feel better." Her voice trailed and she quickly turned away, feeling heat grow in her cheeks. The statement was sappy and she expected the brunette to follow it with a scoff or a sarcastic remark. Instead, she heard a short laugh and felt fingers graze against her own, pulling the can from her grasp.

The brunette repositioned herself to be sitting up and took a small spoonful of noodles and broth to her mouth. Clarke forced herself to reinitiate eye contact and couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips when she saw the girl eating.

"You're welcome." Clarke commented smugly.

Lexa rolled her eyes instead of thanking Clarke, which would usually irritate the blonde, but she decided to give Lexa's coldness a pass. Because she _was_ sick. And definitely not for any other reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you they'd start to open up soon! Somehow this fic is really going along with the current season of The 100. In the show they're trying to find a shelter to stay in, in this fic, they're in a shelter. People are starting to get radiation sickness in the 100, Lexa just got sick in this chapter. Completely unintentional but still kinda cool. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this fluff (if it could even be considered that) and again, thank you all so much for the support! I got so many comments last chapter and they all made me smile so much. Let's see if we can keep that trend going, haha (; Next chapter is gonna be a little different.... New characters will be introduced... That's all I'm gonna say (: See you guys next week!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter:   
> The brunette repositioned herself to be sitting up and took a small spoonful of noodles and broth to her mouth. Clarke forced herself to reinitiate eye contact and couldn't stop the smile that came to her lips when she saw the girl eating. 
> 
> "You're welcome." Clarke commented smugly. 
> 
> Lexa rolled her eyes instead of thanking Clarke, which would usually irritate the blonde, but she decided to give Lexa's coldness a pass. Because she was sick. And definitely not for any other reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Monday! I changed up the summary of this fic a little. Just keepin' the scrollers of ao3 on their toes. Think of it as a writers way of rearranging the furniture in their house, but with less heavy lifting. 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter was really hard for me to write because I had no intention to change perspectives in this fic, and taking big risks/making big changes on a whim is kinda scary, but hey, it turned out okay. I think. I hope... I'll let you decide. eek.

"T-minus twenty-six days since the nuclear explosions, and--"

"Raven, you can't say 't-minus' unless you're counting _down_ to something."

Raven released her grip on the handheld microphone of her CB radio, resulting in a brief static noise, and glared at the younger girl across from her. Letting out a prolonged, dramatic sigh, Raven pushed her thumb against the 'talk' button and brought the device back to her mouth.

"T- _plus_ twenty-six days since the nuclear explosions and Octavia is still an asshole." The girl rephrased, earning a laugh and an eye roll from Octavia.

The shorter girl stood from her seat in the corner and sauntered to where Raven lay on a rickety cot, one heavily braced leg elevated on a stack of, what seemed to be, all the pillows in the room.

"They brought in some kid to the clinic today. Said she had radiation sickness." Octavia sat on an empty part of Raven's cot as she spoke. The statement piqued the older girl's curiosity and she shimmied into a half-sitting position using her elbows.

"Radiation?" She started to ask, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "But the levels have been stable." She continued, trying to read Octavia's expression for answers.

"I heard she was playing in a rain puddle. Must've been contaminated water." Octavia avoided eye contact with Raven as she spoke, her voice trailing slightly. Raven noticed the girl's change in tone and felt a tug in her chest.

"Outside?" She asked, though the answer to the question was quite clear, considering it didn't rain indoors. Octavia simply nodded, taking to tugging at the frayed strands of fabric on her jacket, which was ripping in various places. (Raven wanted to comment on the worn material, but decided to save it for another time.)

Silence ensued for far too long to feel comfortable. The outdoors was a touchy subject between the two; Raven still waiting to be cleared to go outside. Octavia had been cleared as soon as it was considered safe, being the picture of perfect health. Raven on the other hand...

"How's your leg?" The older girl let go of the button before Octavia had finished her question, not wanting her injuries to be spoken on while the radio was active.

"Fine." She didn't mean for it to sound as rude as it had, but she was sure Octavia was used to the curtness when talking about Raven's leg. The conversation alone was enough to bring back feelings of anger and resentment towards the situation she was in.

It had happened during the bombs. Raven had arrived at the Arkadia Army Reserve with a weeks time to spare, earning herself a job as an assistant to the army base's mechanic, Jacapo Sinclair, though he seemed to think the roles should be switched after seeing Raven's abilities. (Raven couldn't blame him. She was pretty, damn amazing.) After learning the basics, he felt comfortable sending Raven off to do her own jobs. She agreed with his decisions.

The tasks ranged from quick, simple fixes, such as a faulty outlet, to far more important jobs, like repairing broken medical supplies. So, when someone called in a testy light fixture, Raven was expecting a fairly easy job.

It was in one of the outermost rooms, used for storage of miscellaneous tools and hardware. She was definitely not a stranger to the room, often making trips to and from to get the necessary equipment for her repairs.

Raven had known the bombs were estimated to hit any day, but she assumed she was safe inside the sturdy walls of the army base.

It was late when Raven finally got around to fixing the light; most people had returned to their quarters, but Raven was wide awake, running off of her third cup of coffee that day. Because she loved her job, and sleep was boring compared to the overwhelming sense of pride she felt after completing any task. Big or small.

Looking back, Raven wished she would've only had two cups of coffee that day.

She wasn't even aware of what had happened until she was flat on her back, the sudden ringing in her ears drowning out the resounding blasts outside. Her eyes had involuntarily squeezed shut, and when they opened, the three shelves (and the ladder she had been standing on) came crashing down, landing heavily on top of her.

Immediately, pain surged through her left leg; she was sure something had broken the skin. The hot liquid spilling through her pants confirmed that suspicion. She tried to scream, tried to yell for help, but the little breath she was able to suck in didn't exactly allow for her voice to travel far. Not to mention the fact that she was at the least populated end of the base, in the middle of the night, during a series of deafening explosions. She gave up on shouting after coming to the realization that no one would hear her, even if they were standing directly outside the storage room doors.

To top it all off-- as if disaster had a sense of irony-- the defective light above her flickered momentarily, before giving out completely, leaving Raven to be crushed, in the dark, under the weight of three industrial shelves, packed to the brim with heavy equipment and hardware.

No one found her until the next morning, a shivering, bleeding mess, speaking only in delusions and hallucinations. Her memory didn't serve far past those moments.

When Raven came to, she was bruised, bandaged, and sore. Her leg was protesting loudly, and all she wanted to do was _sleep_. Sleep, and never feel the horrible sense of disorienting pain and confusion filling her mind, again.

"When's your next check up?" Octavia was asking, but Raven was already too consumed in her current thoughts to even process what the younger girl had said.

Raven had been healing well. Though her leg had little to no range of motion, the deep gash wrapping around her outer thigh was looking better with each dressing change. The two week anniversary of the bombs dropping was rapidly approaching, bringing the inhabitants of Arkadia closer and closer to being allowed outside. Extensive health checks were run on everyone, and anyone not in tip-top shape was deemed unsuitable for the diminishing levels of radiation.

By the looks of it, Raven would be healed just enough to qualify by the two-week mark.

That was, until day twelve rolled around.

Raven had felt sluggish as the day started off, as she always did since the accident. She spent her days in her room, which she shared with a handful of other kids her age, Octavia being one of them. Sinclair was forced to relieve Raven of her duties, considering most days, she was lucky to make it to the bathroom and back without collapsing.

"Soon as your better, consider yourself hired, Reyes." He had promised her, but the words felt empty to Raven.

Raven had limped to the medical bay for a dressing change, still feeling sluggish and shaky, both symptoms she contributed to the dropping temperatures outside. But when the nurses took the girl's temperature, they found her to be burning up, and when they removed the dressing, the wound underneath was a heap of puss and swollen, red-hot skin. An infection so nasty, they wouldn't even let her leave the medical bay, immediately pumping her full of antibiotics.

She asked how that would affect her eligibility to be cleared for going outside. They told her that an immune system couldn't fight infection and low levels of radiation at the same time, safely. They wanted to keep her inside until the two-week course of antibiotics had run their course.

And until her wounds were _completely_ healed. Just to be on the safe side.

Raven hated the safe side.

She knew she was lucky. Knew she should be thankful. She was alive, after all. But nothing about the life she was living felt 'lucky.'

"Raven," Octavia was speaking again, loud enough to fully break Raven from the memories flashing through her mind.

"Next week. The appointment's next week." She recalled the question from earlier. Octavia wore a look of sympathy-- the same look that everyone gave her-- the look that made her want to tear her own hair out.

Raven hated the sudden turn their conversation had taken and forced herself to lighten the mood. "You heard it here first, folks. We've got the meds to cure your radiation. So if you notice that you can suddenly shoot spiderwebs from your fingers, bring yourself to Arkadia." She spoke into the CB radio. It was definitely not her best line, but it was enough to make Octavia laugh, again (and lose the annoying look on her face).

"Spiderman shoots spiderwebs through his wrists, not fingers." It was Raven's turn to laugh, and if her leg hadn't been so comfortably perched on top of her mound of pillows, Raven would have grabbed one and smacked the smaller girl with it.

Before she could respond with a witty comeback, voices from the hallway signaled that the other kids were back from their duties.

First through the door, were Monty and Jasper, two inseparable best friends that usually sat around all day like freeloaders until they were assigned jobs at the newly developed farm station. They carried trays of food with them, already snacking on the potato wedges and ketchup before they'd reached their cots.

Jasper, the taller, unruly-haired one stopped after taking one look at his cot, and turned around to face Raven.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I don't want your diseases infecting _my_ pillow." Shifting his tray to one hand, he swiftly tugged two pillows from under Raven's leg and tossed them on his and Monty's beds. Raven hissed in pain, but hurriedly neutralized her expression, not wanting to convey the terrible heat radiating through her thigh. She had to admit, the apathy was a welcome change.

"You guys remember Jasper and Monty, the stoner kids." Raven voiced to whoever was listening to her through the radio, if anyone.

After being fired from assisting Sinclair, Raven was desperate to do something-- _anything_ that would be helpful to the army base. An old, beat up CB radio ended up offering her some distraction from her current situation. A few minor tweaks later, and the the thing was working as good as new. Raven figured that advertising Arkadia might help someone in need of a place to stay after the bombs. Or at least give her someone (real or imaginary) to talk to while everyone else was busy doing actual, important jobs.

"Turn that damn thing off, Raven." Jasper grumbled through a mouthful of potato.

Raven wanted to argue, but decided it wasn't worth it.

"And, that's my cue. Reyes out."

 

* * *

 

Lexa's condition hadn't improved much over the next day, and while Clarke knew that, stomach bug or radiation sickness, getting better would take time, she still felt a pang of sadness every time she looked over to see the brunette was still a shivering mess under her pile of blankets.

Lexa spent most of the day sleeping, and the rest of the day barking commands at Clarke. While the blonde was happy to oblige, she would be lying if she said she didn't think Lexa was milking her illness a _little_. Clarke didn't complain, though, too worried to instigate an argument.

Clarke did enjoy having access to the food cabinet, and definitely used it to her advantage, sneaking extra scraps of food here and there. Lexa either didn't notice, or didn't care. Maybe both.

Even with Clarke's added luxuries, she found herself staring at the powered-off radio beside Lexa's bed as if it could offer something more to her. As if it held the key to them leaving the shelter. And it kinda did.

Lexa seemed to have no interest in using the device after hearing someone talking through it, which sounded a bit backwards to Clarke. The brunette had spent weeks trying to make some progress on it, but as soon as she did, the radio became old news, as if it had reverted back to the mass of scrap metal that Clarke always thought it to be.

But with each passing hour that Lexa spent with a fever (yes, Clarke checked the brunette's temperature that often, because it felt important to do so) was an hour that Clarke spent thinking of potential fixes for the girl's ailments.

If it was radiation, Clarke knew the only cure would have to be found on the outside, perhaps in a hospital or clinic. If it was just a virus, Lexa still needed to stay hydrated, and hydration was not a resource they had an overabundance of. An infection needed antibiotics, and the closest thing they had to medicine was a tube of disinfectant ointment (Clarke's little medical knowledge was enough to tell her that wouldn't be useful).

Basically, they needed to leave.

It went as far as two days of sickness before Clarke spoke up.

"I'm worried, Lexa." She looked over at the brunette, who was sitting up for what was probably the first time all day.

Lexa just stared back and flashed her best 'you think I didn't notice that already?' face. Clarke knew Lexa was also concerned, but also knew she would never show it.

"I'm being serious." Clarke mumbled, but found it hard to keep a straight face when looking at the girl's scowl.

Lexa's expression neutralized at Clarke's words, and the blonde assumed she was trying to hide her own emotions on the subject.

"I'm just sick." The brunette picked at her fingernails and avoided the blue-eyed gaze, her voice sounding small compared to her usual tone.

"Yeah, that's why I'm worried!" Clarke reiterated, steadily growing in volume.

"You know what I meant."

Clarke _did_ know what she meant, but it didn't help her feel any less stressed about their situation. A part of the blonde wished that she was the one that had fallen sick. It felt unfair that Lexa had offered her shelter to Clarke and wouldn't be the one to live and see the outside ever again.

She forced herself not to think about the idea, because Lexa couldn't die. Clarke wouldn't let that happen.

"We need to leave this place."

Lexa was groaning and rolling her eyes before Clarke had even finished talking. It wasn't unexpected, considering Lexa seemed to have a strong aversion to any mention of leaving.

"We're not going to risk our health even more." Lexa meant to sound stern-- Clarke could tell-- but the girl's current weakness prevented it from sounding like anything other than a whine. Honestly, Clarke didn't mind being the more assertive one. It was a welcome change.

"Would you rather leave and take that chance, or die in here and do nothing?"

Clarke didn't mean to sound so blunt (and immediately regretted it when she saw the look of hurt that came to the brunette's face).

_Someone had to say it._

"We don't need to have this conversation again." Lexa growled, slouching further down the wall as if she was trying to escape any further discussion.

"We do, because you're still not listening." If it hadn't been for the fact that Clarke was trying to be civil, she would have thrown her hands up in anger. She wondered how it was humanly possible for one girl to be so hard-headed.

"I've only been sick two days." Lexa's voice had diminished to barely above a whisper-- so quiet, Clarke wasn't sure if she had even heard the girl correctly.

The blonde sighed and allowed her head to fall into her hands, using her palms to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. It _was_ true. But in her defense, it felt like two years to Clarke. Time never seemed to pass quickly when she spent the day staring at her shoes, as if she could see them starting to waste away. She supposed two days wasn't _that_ long.

"If you still have a fever in the morning, we have to do something." Clarke decided, trying to maintain her rigidness. Instead of hearing another argument from the brunette, she was met with silence. "Even if you just turn on that radio and find out if we have any options."

And thankfully-- Clarke would have stood up and cheered if it had seemed appropriate-- Lexa nodded solemnly.

But when Clarke woke up the next morning, she didn't have to check Lexa's vitals to know that the abnormally pale girl's condition hadn't changed, and with one pleading look from the set of especially blue eyes, the brunette was reaching for the radio and pushing the 'on' button.

Clarke couldn't contain the grin that tugged at her lips when she heard the sound of staticky white noise that erupted from the radio's speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotsa new characters!! Can you tell I'm a slut for character development? Not sure when you'll see more of these guys, buuut you will. Next chapters will be more clexa-centric so if you're feeling a little deprived after this chapter, know that the next few will be better. 
> 
> As always, you're all wonderful and perfect and never fail to make me smile with all the support you give. Hope you all had the most amazing Valentines Days and if not, know I was loving you from afar, haha. 
> 
> Let me know if my 'perspective change' risk paid off! Or if it was a complete flop. Either way, I'll enjoy the feedback. See you soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: But when Clarke woke up the next morning, she didn't have to check Lexa's vitals to know that the abnormally pale girl's condition hadn't changed, and with one pleading look from the set of especially blue eyes, the brunette was reaching for the radio and pushing the 'on' button. 
> 
> Clarke couldn't contain the grin that tugged at her lips when she heard the sound of staticky white noise that erupted from the radio's speakers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I choose Monday....   
> @ past callie: what were you thinking?   
> @ future callie: maybe change updates to weekends.   
> @ present callie: stop waiting until Sunday at 11:59pm to start writing.  
> @ you guys: thank you for all the support and the love (550 kudos, 75 comments, 4,500 hits! WHAT!). Enjoy, lovelies!
> 
> P.S. I'm aware the clexa in this chapter is subpar. There's not much left to write about in the bomb shelter and I had to wrap up a few side-plots with Octaven, but I can assure you next chapter will bring far more clexa-ness (: Happy clexa week, anyway!

It took a while for Lexa to fine tune the radio's channel until the indiscernible sounds turned to choppy words and phrases. But when Clarke was finally able to tell that there was an actual human talking on the other side, she couldn't stop her heart from pounding against her ribs.

The two girls sat shoulder to shoulder on Lexa's bed, which Clarke had officially decided she liked better than her own bed (not because it was comfier, but because sitting on it almost always meant she was closer to Lexa), and listened for any audible words that they could string together to make sense. Even the smallest noise caused hurried glances to be sent between the two, and always ended in awkward eye contact and the occasional short laugh.

The voice was low and raspy, but somehow still sounded feminine. Clarke found herself trying to put a face to the voice, which was quite silly, considering she'd heard a total of two whole words from the radio.

It was a boring, yet exciting process. Lexa would turn the dial (that Clarke assumed was used to tune the channel), a few sputters of sound would follow, Lexa would turn it farther, and the sound would stop. Rinse and repeat. Clarke was sure she would explode from anticipation if something didn't happen soon.

A full twenty minutes of attempting to separate static from words, and they were doing no better than when they had first started.

"This is useless," Lexa tugged her hand from its entanglement of wires and ran her fingers through her hair. "The signal is too far away for us to pick up."

"Let me try." The blonde suggested, earning a look from Lexa that made her wonder if she had two heads. The blonde stared back, trying to maintain her confidence. Hesitantly, Lexa handed the contraption to Clarke, still sporting a doubtful look.

Clarke stood from the bed as soon as the radio was in her hands and turned the dial until broken words spilled from the speakers. When she was sure the device was tuned to the right station, she lifted the radio high above her head, standing on the tips of her toes to reach maximum height.

The static cut out momentarily (and Clarke almost thought he had broken the thing), but instead of starting again, only words came through.

"I heard... playing... puddle. Must've been... water."

Clarke gasped and sent an excited look towards Lexa, who was picking at her fingernails unhappily. This voice was different than the ones they had been hearing previously; higher pitched and less raspy. But before Clarke could comment on the discovery, a much more familiar voice came on the radio.

"Outside?" The words were clear as day and sent a wave of goosebumps down Clarke's arms. They were talking about the outdoors. And that _had_ to mean something.

This seemed to grab Lexa's attention, and the brunette left her spot on the bed to stand next to Clarke.

"How--" The speaking abruptly stopped and replaced itself with the well-known white noise, making Clarke's eyebrows pull together in bewilderment. (For a moment, she even wondered if Lexa's negative energy had jinxed the progress.)

That _couldn't_ be all that they would get from the machine.

"See? Useless." Lexa muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, probably more from the cold air than from her obvious annoyance.

Clarke didn't think her urge to yell at the girl could grow any stronger. Still, she refused to lower the machine from its position in the air, no matter how much her arms shook from the strain.

"They were talking about going outside." The blonde's voice was monotonous and she thought she felt tears starting to fill her eyes, though she wasn't sure if they were from happiness or sadness. She forced them to stay put, nonetheless.

"That doesn't mean--" Lexa started to say, but stopped when the radio decided to sputter back to life.

"You heard... folks... got the meds... cure radiation. So if you notice... spiderwebs... bring yourself... Arkadia." It sounded, static muffling the voices on the other side. It didn't matter, though. Clarke had heard everything she needed to hear.

_Medication to cure radiation._

_Arkadia._

If her memory served her, Clarke was sure Arkadia was about fifty miles north, give or take. If they left right then, they could probably make it in a couple days.

She turned to Lexa with determination in her eyes, only to see the brunette had already returned to her bed.

"We can leave," Clarke stated, still in awe over the last few words that came from the radio. "Arkadia's north of here." Lexa tucked her hands under her blanket and sighed heavily.

"You really want to do this?" Her eyebrows were raised suspiciously-- or maybe nervously, Clarke couldn't tell. She nodded either way, an involuntary grin spreading across her face.

Surprisingly, Lexa mimicked the expression, though it looked as if she was trying hard to suppress it.

"Can't we stay one more night?" The grin disappeared as quickly as it appeared and replaced itself with a brief look of sadness. For a moment, Clarke wondered if leaving the shelter was a lot harder for the brunette than it seemed.

Thinking back, Clarke had always had a reason to want to leave. Whether it was to find out if her mother was alive, or to get back to life as it used to be, Clarke always had a strong motive to get out of there. And she wondered if Lexa didn't share that same will. Perhaps the brunette knew there was no one waiting for her on the other side. Or maybe it was her plan to stay in the shelter until something-- starvation, most likely-- took what was left from her, too.

And that thought was enough to make Clarke's breath catch in her throat and break her heart a little in the process. One more night suddenly seemed a lot more doable.

"One more night."  
  


* * *

 

"Raven, you were supposed to be up an hour ago!"

Raven knew that, but the warmth of her blankets and the current quietness of her leg convinced her to go back to sleep. She groaned and pulled the blanket past her eyes, thinking that if she couldn't see Octavia, the younger girl couldn't see her, either. Flawed logic, but it bought her enough time to doze off momentarily before Octavia was yelling again.

"Don't make me drag you out of bed." The girl warned, her tone conveying the endearment that she had obviously tried to hide.

Raven knew Octavia too well to believe it. Because she knew the younger girl would never do anything to hurt her or her lame leg.

She was right, and instead of being pulled from the bed, Raven only felt her blanket being tugged from her face.

"Ten more minutes," Raven mumbled, instinctively covering her eyes with the crook of her arm.

"If you want my help walking to the medical bay, you've got two minutes." Octavia glanced towards the clock on the wall as she zipped a jacket over her chest.

It was a tempting offer. Tempting enough that she propped herself onto her elbows and squeezed one eye shut, allowing them to adjust to the brightness. Her eyes locked on Octavia, who was tying her hair back in a messy ponytail and trying not to roll her eyes at Raven's laziness. The room around her was empty, indicating everyone had already left to start their duties of the day. It never failed to send a warm feeling through Raven's chest when she noticed that Octavia had waited for her.

"You're gonna be late, again." The older girl pointed out, slowly but surely finding her way into an upright position that caused the least amount of pain to spread through her upper leg.

"They're used to it. They might as well start writing my shifts at nine." She huffed and made her way to Raven's side.

"Would that mean I could sleep in until ten?" Raven tested, jokingly. Octavia did roll her eyes, then. The smaller girl grabbed onto Raven's good leg and gently swung it off the edge of the cot, her bad leg following close behind, with a few hurting groans from Raven.

Octavia had been living at the army base long before Raven arrived. She had enlisted in the Navy and was on the brink of finishing boot camp when the base was opened to the public. Considering her primary talents were in combat and war training, two skills unnecessary for the maintenance of a bomb shelter, she was assigned a job as a janitor. Not exactly the most dignifying work, but Raven never heard her complain.

After a compilation of aches and pains, Raven was standing and using Octavia's shoulder as support.

"If you would use your crutches, like you're supposed to, this wouldn't hurt so much." Octavia reminded her, as she did every morning. Raven never listened. She refused to look any more crippled than she already did.

With Octavia as a balance, Raven stepped forward slowly, biting her tongue harder with each movement, in hopes that it would distract her from the discomfort in her knee. She was already wishing she was back in bed. Wishing the beads of sweat would stop forming on her forehead. All before her foot even touched the floor. And when it did, she hopped forward and started again. Definitely not the most efficient (or preferable) method, but it worked for her.

Four minutes later, Raven was at the door. Ten minutes later, she was outside the medical bay. Octavia unwrapped her arm from around Raven's shoulder and patted the upper part of her back, as to silently congratulate her for doing the simple task. But all Raven felt from the gesture was pity.

"I'll see you at lunch. Don't walk back to the room alone." Octavia mothered, which was something Raven had just grown used to since her accident. The taller girl raised to fingers to her forehead and saluted the shorter girl away, using her other hand to push the clinic's door open.

Immediately, she was greeted by a flock of nurses, all doing their best to help her to a bed. She felt like yelling at all of them to leave her alone, but refrained, knowing she couldn't make it to a cot without help.

When she was finally laying down, she was ready for another full night of sleep.

Her usual nurse, Eric Jackson, appeared at her bedside after collecting a hoard of medical supplies to treat her with. He pulled a chair up to her bed and sat down, folding his arms and trying to read Raven's expression.

"You've been taking your antibiotics?" He asked, and all Raven could think was: _what a hell of a greeting_. She nodded, staring towards the roof to avoid eye contact. She knew what question was coming next. "And the pain meds?"

Unsure of how to respond, she decided that remaining silent was an accurate portrayal of the answer. A stressed sigh came from the nurse and he didn't bother to protest, probably knowing that Raven was far too stubborn to take anyone else's advice. Instead, he took to undoing the brace around her knee, revealing a heap of bandages and tape going up her thigh. She usually tried not to look, but the line of dried blood peeking through the top already gave Raven the answer she had been dreading.

The wounds were still open. She didn't even care what the condition of the injury was, because in her head, open wounds meant she wasn't cleared to go outside, and an infection would have the same consequence.

Jackson continued anyway, unwrapping the cuts and cleaning them with alcohol and ointment.

"Looks good. It's healing well."

Raven didn't understand how actively bleeding sores were considered 'healing well,' but she didn't have the energy to fight.

"How's it feel?" He inquired, wiping away some of the dried blood that covered her knee. Raven shrugged at the question.

"Still hurts like a bitch." She explained, doing her best not to gasp when some of the alcohol would seep into the wounds.

"I'll send your doctor in to look at this, and you'll be on your way." Again, he dodged the idea of forcing painkillers on Raven, knowing she would deny them. He pulled his gloves from his hands and tossed them in the trash, walking out of Raven's view to find her doctor.

She could feel the eyes of the other patients on her, making her wish her leg was covered up. She hated being seen as vulnerable, and when she looked towards the others, all she could see was pity. And it was driving her insane. Had it not been for the fact that her brace was still undone, she would have gotten up and left, despite Octavia's warning not to leave without help.

Raven's mind briefly flashed to her inpatient stay when her leg had become infected; when the only action in her day was when a new patient came in, or when someone would visit her (occasionally when someone came to visit another patient, as long as their conversation was within hearing range for Raven). So, she understood why they stared. Not to mention, her accident had been the talk of the base, probably more troubling than the actual world ending. Her name was well-known, but not for the reason she expected.

Had she ever become famous, she would have assumed it would be from her amazing skills as a mechanic; maybe saving the base from a near disaster with her quick thinking and exceptional knowledge. Instead, she was 'the-girl-who-nearly-died-while-fixing-a-lightbulb'. Talk about ironic.

Her doctor entered the room, donned in a familiar set of blue scrubs, gloves, and a surgical mask. Only familiar because it was one of the last things she remembered seeing before being put to sleep for surgery on her leg.

"Hello, Raven." The woman greeted, pushing the mask off of her mouth and nose so the girl could hear better.

Raven flicked her eyes to the doctor to acknowledge that she heard, but decided not to say anything. She wasn't in the mood for formal greetings, anyways.

"How have you been?" Raven was starting to think that was the only question people were capable of asking her. (And the answer she always gave seemed to be the only response she could muster each time.)

"Fine. Still the same." She said through gritted teeth, fully intending to sound irritated. The woman nodded slowly, glancing down at the wound and back at Raven.

She took Jackson's previous seat and inspected her leg, mumbling medical terms to Jackson, who was writing them meticulously on a clipboard.

"Have you been able to put pressure on it?" The doctor continued, poking and prodding at different spots on Raven's leg, studying her reactions to each movement.

"How else do you think I got here?" Raven almost regretted how insolent she was being, but felt justified with each poke to her leg that sent fire through her veins. The doctor remained silent after that, probably deciding that conversation was not a particular strong suit for Raven that day, and when she finished assessing the damage, she rewrapped the cuts and strapped Raven's brace back on her leg.

"It's healing. The larger cut is still open and bleeding, so you're to stay inside at least until next week." The words made Raven want to yell in frustration, because another week of laying in bed seemed like a death sentence. She bit her tongue, though, deciding to nod, instead.

"However, I can clear you for work, as long as you feel you'll be able to handle it." The woman explained, piquing Raven's interest.

Raven knew she _wouldn't_ be able to handle it, but she'd be caught dead before she turned down the offer. A week inside would be much more tolerable if she didn't spend it wallowing in self-pity behind the walls of her quarters.

"I don't know if that's a good idea. She--" Jackson cut in, stepping forward as he spoke.

"I can do it." Raven stopped him. The doctor didn't have to know that it took Raven fifteen minutes to walk a total of fifty yards to the med bay. And, _hell_ , if she would let her injury hinder her ability to start working again. She would find a way. She always did.

"I can do it." She repeated, this time turning to Jackson with a fierce glare that said 'talk again and I'll kill you'.

"Great. I'll send for Sinclair to reassess you." She pulled her mask back over her mouth and turned to leave, motioning for Jackson to follow.

Raven felt obligated to thank the woman, because she knew she was trying her best to let Raven get back to all her usual activities. And Raven had to be grateful for that. At least she had to _pretend_ to be. Before the doctor was too far away, she called after her.

"Thank you, Dr. Griffin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaat! Dr. GRIFFIN? Where have we heard that last name before!? Ha, remember how I said this chapter would be more clexa-centric? Honestly I'm so unreliable, why do I even promise this kind of stuff? But hey! I also said we wouldn't see the new guys for a while, but look who consumed 3/4 of this chapter? I just love Octaven, okay...? Hopefully you'll forgive me <3
> 
> Side note: Octavia's "death" killed me. I've never ever cried from a TV show but when Bellamy started crying I couldn't hold it back. I know she's not dead now but I'm still bitter. Kim shumway I'm suing you for my emotional instability. Also for my tuition (;


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Raven felt obligated to thank the woman, because she knew she was trying her best to let Raven get back to all her usual activities. And Raven had to be grateful for that. At least she had to pretend to be. Before the doctor was too far away, she called after her. 
> 
> "Thank you, Dr. Griffin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look at that, it's Monday. And it sure as hell feels like one... 
> 
> Sorry about this filler chapter, but I did my best to include some humor and clexa cuteness. Enjoy! 
> 
> anyone who's wondering... i did write a clexa week fic that surprisingly received a lot of rude comments (not all, some were nice or just constructive criticism which I appreciate) so i deleted it. just thought i should mention i did try to participate, but i guess I'll just stick to this fic from now on. it kinda sent me into a funk and im feeling so unmotivated to write anything, but I'll do my best. As usual, no promises.

Though the plan was to stay one more night, Clarke started packing immediately, which provoked Lexa to leave her bed and help, too.

"I can handle the packing. You should rest." Clarke assured Lexa, when she noticed the brunette leaning against the wall, out of breath.

"No," she refused, pushing off the cement with one hand. "If it was up to you, you'd just pack all the donuts and chips." Lexa muttered, and Clarke couldn't help but smile at the remark.

"We have donuts?" It was meant to lighten the mood, and even though Lexa rolled her eyes, Clarke could tell it had the effect she was hoping for.

Packing was proving to be far more stressful than the actual idea of leaving. With only two, measly backpacks and an even smaller lunch box, they both knew that a majority of the supplies would need to be left behind. The trip was expected to take about a week, so food could be packed sparingly, but still left blankets and other essentials without a place in the bags.

"If we each carry a bag and a blanket, it should hold enough for us to make it to Arkadia." Lexa planned aloud, looking over the materials they had spread across the floor.

Clarke felt the need to object, but held her tongue. Lexa couldn't even walk across the room without losing her breath, let alone, across the state.

Desperate to get the idea of Lexa being unable to make the trip out of her head, Clarke forced a new topic.

"What do you think it'll look like outside?" When the image of endless stretches of ash entered her mind, she wished she had chosen a less depressing question.

Lexa shrugged and shoved a few cans into a bag (Clarke could see the brunette biting at the skin on her lip--something she had been doing nonstop for days-- and Clarke had half the mind to stop her, if it didn't look so, damn cute).

"Burnt." She mumbled dryly, but Clarke could swear she heard a hint of gloom in her voice-- the same that had coated her words the night before, Clarke noted. She couldn't protest, considering the guess was probably correct. From what the blonde could see from the skylight, it was a wasteland. She hoped the scenery that was visible was the worst of it.

Something told her it wasn't.

The room became silent, as if both girls had fallen into contemplation, and when she looked over to see Lexa gazing into the distance, deep in thought, she tried, again.

"Anyone you're planning on visiting? Once you're better, of course." She asked the question mostly for her own gain, more interested in Lexa's answer than getting the brunette's mind off packing for the trek.

" _If_ I get better." The response felt like a blow to Clarke's chest, because she'd thought of the possibility, but suppressed it as soon as it surfaced, too afraid to ponder on the idea.

Lexa couldn't die.

And she found herself offering the reasoning far too often to be considered healthy. Because Lexa could die, and she needed to realize that.

Lexa _could_ die.

She repeated the phrase to herself multiple times, her face scrunching up tighter with each repetition. Instead of making it feel less confronting, the phrase's sting grew stronger each time, until the words brought an intensely cold feeling to her stomach.

Lexa _couldn't_ die. Because that was easier to believe than the other option. She would let herself live in the fantasy until something told her otherwise.

Lexa must have noticed Clarke's inner debate and decided to continue.

"But no. No one to visit." Her eyes flashed between the phone on the ground and Clarke, reminding the blonde of the device's presence in the room.

She briefly recalled the time when she'd snooped through the girl's private messages, bringing a familiar heat to her face. Previously, Clarke had felt justified in searching through the phone, but now, she only felt guilt.

Despite that, Clarke wondered if the sudden look towards the phone had meant something. She didn't want to look too deeply into Lexa's actions, but glancing at the phone right after Clarke asked about visiting someone on the outside just seemed suspicious.

Again, the picture of Lexa and the stranger girl appeared in her head, along with so many other questions. And, god, did Clarke want to ask some of them.

But asking Lexa who the girl was in a photo she wasn't even supposed to be seeing, probably carried the same, if not worse, consequence as stealing food. If there hadn't been a deadly weapon within ten feet of Lexa's grasp, she would have considered it further.

But if she could convince the brunette to leave the crossbow behind, she'd feel much safer bringing up the invasion of privacy.

"No friends?" The words sounded less teasing in her head than when she spoke them, and she regretted her choice of diction as soon as it left her mouth. That seemed to be a common problem in her recent days. She really needed to learn to hold her tongue more.

Thankfully, Lexa didn't seem offended by the query, answering it with yet another shrug. "None that survived."

The statement caught Clarke off guard (she was starting to think Lexa's odd responses were less surprising, but every once in a while, one would resonate as off-putting to her). She tilted her head at the response, earning a look from Lexa that read 'don't ask.'

It was too late, because if Clarke couldn't ask about the girl in the picture, she was definitely not going to add to the things she didn't understand.

"How do you know?" The blonde turned away and took to going through her own belongings. An exasperated sigh came from Lexa, who was sitting down on her bed, again.

"I hope you're not expecting to bring your drawing book." Lexa commented just as Clarke's fingers brushed the spine of her sketchbook. The evasion of the question only added to Clarke's suspicion. But the answer didn't seem as important after Lexa's most recent statement.

"What? Why not?" Clarke could hear the pitch in her own voice rising, portraying the offense she was feeling. The collection of art was the only thing she had saved from her dingy apartment, and she wasn't about to leave it underground like it was just a few disposable doodles.

"We don't have the room. Unless it's useful, we need to leave it behind." Somehow Lexa's tone had regained a confidence that Clarke hadn't heard since the girl had gotten sick. But even with the boldness, Clarke wasn't about to give up on years worth of sentimental drawings.

"What? No, I'm taking it." The blonde defied, picking up the book and tucking it under her arm.

Lexa sighed again, louder-- loud enough to be absolutely positive that Clarke could hear how unhappy she was. It got the point across (and thoroughly annoyed Clarke in the process).

"If I can't take my drawings, you cant take your crossbow." The ultimatum seemed fair. If Clarke couldn't keep her most prized possession, Lexa deserved the same.

"A crossbow is useful." Lexa shot back, and Clarke just _knew_ the face the brunette was sporting, without having to look at her. It almost definitely consisted of narrow eyes and crossed arms, a signature look for the, normally disgruntled, girl.

"How is a crossbow useful?" She wanted to add in something about how crossbows were only useful for robbing innocent blondes in the forest, but it felt like a low blow. And she'd already used the line before.

"Its more useful than art." Clarke couldn't necessarily argue that. But unless the outside was crawling with zombies and other typical apocalyptic creatures, she couldn't find a need for it. "You never draw anymore, anyway." Lexa added, compelling Clarke to spin around to face the brunette. She almost wanted to feel esteemed in the fact that Lexa took notice of her artistic habits, but decided not to take the observation as a compliment.

"Yeah, staring at the same wall for weeks doesn't exactly provide inspiration." And Clarke knew she had slipped up as soon as she said it. Knew as soon as the devilish smile came to Lexa's lips, accentuating her already high cheekbones.

"What, I'm not good enough for you to draw anymore?" Predictable. Predictable enough for Clarke to see it coming, but not enough to stop the incredible shade of red that rose to her face. She was sure that if it had grown any redder, her cheeks would have started to smoke.

So, she did what any sensible person would do.

She completely ignored it. Because what was she supposed to say?

'Thanks for the idea, I'll draw you right now?'

'You're right, I don't like drawing you anymore?'

It was obvious Lexa had put her in a checkmate of sorts, her speechlessness a sign that the brunette's teasing had its desired effect.

And Clarke suddenly liked it a lot better when they weren't speaking.

 

* * *

 

She could do it. Even if it killed her. She _would_ do it.

Sinclair was expecting her in the mess hall for a meeting at thirteen hundred hours and Raven made sure she was ready an hour early to ensure she would make it on time.

"You don't have to do this." Octavia repeated for the umpteenth time that day. The younger girl had the day off, and planned to spend it outside, but decided to stay in when she heard of Raven's assessment.

"I'll be fine." She bluffed, doing her best to stay perfectly still. If she wanted to make it through Sinclair's evaluation she would need all the energy she could get.

"At least let me walk you?"

"No, Octavia. If he sees that I can't even walk on my own, he'll never clear me." She reiterated, and if her legs worked, she would've bounced them in anticipation.

Another glance down at her watch showed her that the time she needed to leave was quickly approaching. Raven was glad she hadn't eaten lunch, because she assumed the meal would have ended up in a toilet based on how much her stomach was twisting in knots.

"It's not too late to take a pain pill." Octavia's pacing was giving Raven a headache. The older girl let out a loud groan, hoping to get the point across that she was tired of Octavia's suggestions. "Is your brace on tight enough?" She paused her walking and motioned towards Raven's leg, the look of concern on her face only adding to the other girl's annoyance.

"Yes. Don't you have anything better to do than bother me?" She grumbled, earning a look that said 'oh shut up, you know you love me.'

Again, she checked her watch, seeing that not even a minute had passed. The feeling she was experiencing was strange. On one hand, she wished time would slow down, cringing every time she noticed some time had passed, but another part of her couldn't wait until she was able to leave, just wanting to get the whole ordeal over and done with.

Deciding that time was passing too slowly for her liking, Raven reached towards her nightstand, pulling the old CB radio into her lap.

"So," Raven sang into the speaker, stretching the word for a few seconds while she mapped out what she would say next. "Might not be on here as much." She explained, speaking like whoever was listening was a close friend-- someone she had to explain herself to. "I mean, maybe after work, but definitely not all day anymore." It felt overzealous, and Raven knew she shouldn't count her chickens before they hatch-- but she was Raven Reyes, dammit. She could do anything.

She paused, but continued holding the button down on the microphone. Octavia filled the gap of silence with her own two cents.

"Your head's getting a little big, Rae." She said dryly, using the girl's nickname that never failed to bring a smirk to Raven's face.

"What? You don't think I can do it?" She tested, raising one eyebrow to the shorter girl. Octavia held her hands up in defense, probably not wanting to comment on the topic. Raven only took the gesture as a confirmation in Octavia's skepticism.

"You should get going." She proposed, doing a double-take at the clock on the wall. The proposal only made Raven's stomach lurch more, which she hid effectively with an eye roll.

"Yeah, yeah," Raven waved the words away, setting the radio aside and allowing it to power off. Octavia was at Raven's side before she could stop her, holding a hand out to her with a sad smile on her face.

The older girl rolled her eyes, again, but accepted the help, using her better leg to push off the cot. Octavia purposely offered more help than Raven needed, but she didn't protest. Extra help meant Raven was using less of the little energy she had, which is something she forced herself to be thankful towards Octavia for.

"Last chance." She sang, the meaning of the words going unspoken.

"It's still a no." Raven replied, mimicking the other's tone. When her leg adjusted to her weight, she allowed the other one to touch the floor, holding back a grimace at the feeling of her knee extending. She pulled her tongue between her teeth and bit down, hoping the pain in her mouth would distract from the further pain she was about to feel.

Even with Raven's denial, Octavia refused to leave the girl on her own, staying a respectable distance as they walked-- at an incredibly slow pace, but walked, nonetheless-- to the room that Raven was expected in.

It took slightly longer than she had anticipated, meaning she was just a few minutes late to the meeting, but not late enough to cause suspicion.

Finally at the door, Octavia sighed and flashed another sympathetic smile to the injured girl.

"Good job, Rae." Octavia beamed, holding the mess hall door open for Raven to step inside. If she hadn't been in so much pain, she would've protested, yelling at Octavia for assuming she was so incapable that she needed doors opened for her, but held her tongue, deciding gratefulness was more appropriate. "And good luck." The butterflies that filled Raven's stomach at the words only made her feel more nervous.

"I don't need luck." It felt like more of a mantra that she was trying to convince herself, rather than Octavia, of, but did it's job of instilling a glimmer of hope inside her chest.

She could do it.

 

* * *

 

Little words were exchanged between the two after Lexa's embarrassing remark. Clarke thought awkward silences were a thing of the past, happening less and less the longer they were together, but the recent events made Clarke wonder if their relationship had regressed.

They had finished packing early that night, and mutually agreed to use their remaining time to rest before the journey ahead of them.

Despite the agreement, neither of the two managed to fall asleep easily, or for longer than an hour or so at a time. And while Clarke was sure that they were both awake at many of the same times, which would usually prompt her to strike up a conversation, she felt more than okay with allowing the silence to remain after her last attempt.

At the sight of first light, Clarke was sitting up and doing a final sweep of the shelter. The shelter she'd spent the last month living inside. The shelter that saved her life. When she was sure the necessary supplies were all collected, Lexa was just beginning to stir under her mound of blankets, and when the brunette was fully upright, Clarke could feel excitement fluttering through her chest and making her breath catch in her throat.

They were leaving.

Groggily, Lexa tugged a bag over her shoulder and pulled a blanket and her crossbow into her grasp.

(At the sight of Lexa holding her crossbow, Clarke glared and defiantly took her sketchbook into her hands, as well. But not without making it incredibly obvious that she planned to take the notebook with them, which only made Lexa smirk in response.)

They were _really_ leaving. And somehow, the part of Clarke that was terrified of the risk-- terrified of the possible death sentence she was bestowing upon herself-- dissolved under the mere idea of never having to spend another night on the cold, concrete floors.

Clarke was sure Lexa was moving abnormally slow, just to make the blonde's skin itch with anticipation.

When they were standing underneath the skylight, hearts pounding away, Lexa let out a steadying sigh and dipped into her pocket, pulling out a familiar set of keys. The brunette held them out with raised eyebrows, in a way that said 'would you like to do the honors?'

Clarke was sure Lexa was only offering because of her currently weak state, but she accepted, nonetheless.

When the keys were in her possession, she started climbing the ladder, sending frequent glances back towards Lexa, who simply nodded at each look.

The keys wiggled their way into an old lock-- so dusty and untouched, Clarke was unsure if it would even budge-- and turned until an audible click was heard, followed by an irrepressible gasp from the blonde.

She turned back and tossed the keys to Lexa, who caught them with ease and took to passing them from hand to hand nervously.

Somehow, Clarke's trembling fingers found the latch securing the door into the concrete.

Her body couldn't move fast enough, and Clarke couldn't help but feel that if she didn't move quickly, the excitement would be ripped beneath her, as if the entire thing was some dream, on the verge of ending. As if moving too slowly would result in her waking up and never being able to see what lie beyond the room.

Two full twists and the door detached from the cement, sending an echo of screeching metal-against-metal through the room. Somehow, the terrible noise was music to Clarke's ears.

A harsh push with one shaky hand (while the other white-knuckle gripped the ladder) and the hatch was open.

And Clarke was outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They did it! They're breaking out! I don't know who's more excited, me or Clarke.. it'll be nice to have new settings to work with. That shelter was getting pretty, damn stale. 
> 
> As usual, your comments are honestly my biggest inspiration when writing this story. If I'm ever feeling particularly unjazzed about this fic, I read through your guys' amazing feedback and then I want to keep writing. You're all amazing! 
> 
> I also joined the 'social-media train' and got myself a twitter! It's the same user as here (@callieincali) if you wanna party with me there! 
> 
> See you next week, lovelies! <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: A harsh push with one shaky hand (while the other white-knuckle gripped the ladder) and the hatch was open. 
> 
> And Clarke was outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It became Monday one hour earlier than usual... daylight saving time is kicking my ass! 
> 
> anyway, exciting chapter today! this fic is about half-way through, can you believe it? can you also believe this fic has over 5,000 hits, almost 700 kudos, and almost 100 comments? i sure as hell can't. hugs and kisses to all those still reading and supporting (:

"It was great to see you again, Reyes."

Sinclair's expression didn't coincide with the statement. Raven knew the look he was giving her. The same look she saw from every resident of Arkadia. She meant to say it was nice to see him, too, but the lump forming in her throat made it impossible to speak. She settled on a solemn nod, instead.

Sinclair's folded his hands on the table, and with a heavy sigh, continued speaking.

"I'm gonna cut the bullshit because I know you can handle it, but--" Sinclair paused and leaned back in the booth when he saw Raven's gaze fall to the table, rather than maintaining their height at his eyes. She didn't need to watch the sympathy grow on his face, nor did she want to. "I know you." He said, and Raven wondered if his idea of 'cutting the bullshit' meant it was going to take him forever to say what he needed to. "And I know you're not ready to work yet, or anytime soon."

It felt like a blow to her chest, and for a moment Raven wasn't sure what stung more, the fact that Sinclair was denying her the chance at a job, or the fact that he dared to wear a disgusting look of pity as he said it.

"What? Sinclair, I'm perfectly--" Raven hoped her confident tone was enough to hide the fear she was feeling, but Sinclair saw right through it.

"You're not. Abby told me the extent of your injuries." She didn't look away at first; she held his gaze and tilted her head to the side, as if the fact that her injuries were severe was news to her. But after a few moments of silence, she gave up the facade and returned to looking at her lap. "Most people don't recover from a crush injury in just a few weeks. Especially not when they have as much nerve damage as you do."

"I'm not most people." Raven shot back without hesitation, immediately blocking out the medical terms she was hearing. She meant for the response to decrease some of the tension in the air, but when Sinclair sighed again, she knew the words had only made it worse.

"You're a damn, good mechanic, but your leg is going to slow you down." She wanted to yell at him-- tell him how rejecting her was going to be the biggest mistake her ever made, because he would never find anyone as skilled as her-- but somehow the usual confidence that filled her chest was replaced with insecurity and self-doubt. "I'm looking for a worker, not an assistant." He explained, sending hot sparks through Raven's cheeks. The lump returned to her throat with a sudden vengeance, so large that it brought heavy tears to her eyes in the process. She quickly hid the redness in her face, because fiddling with her thumbs under the table suddenly seemed far more interesting. She could hear Sinclair starting to shift in his seat, preparing to stand. "You're not even allowed to do outdoor jobs, Raven." The use of her full name only made her heart drop further than it already had. Because she knew that her usual nickname was a sign of endearment that Sinclair had given her soon after she was hired, when he saw how valuable she was to the army base. Using her first name meant Sinclair saw her for what she really was, now. Weak and useless.

She didn't even notice the man leaving the booth and exiting the mess hall, but when she looked up, the seat across from her was empty. Part of her was glad he was gone, preventing her from arguing back, because, in the end, arguing wouldn't fix her leg. And it definitely wouldn't help her get the job back.

Allowing her head to fall against the back of the seat, she stared at the ceiling, forcing her tears to stay behind her eyelids. Even if she would have had the energy, the will she needed to walk back to her quarters, unassisted, was lost.

Octavia would come looking for her eventually. Or she wouldn't. Raven didn't know if she cared, either way.

 

* * *

 

Clarke first noticed the the fresh air. Air that felt so cold in her throat that her eyes started to burn in contrast. The smell came next, only furthering the buzz of excitement in her head. It smelled like she had always remembered, but beneath the earthy scent was a smoky undertone; that of a forest fire, if said fire was burning far off in the distance, just barely reaching the point where Clarke stood.

But when her eyes finally adjusted to the sight around her, she sucked in a breath so quickly, the burning swelled into heavy tears that started to trail down her face. Whether the tears were from the crisp, cold air or the emotion of finally seeing the outdoors, Clarke didn't know.

All she knew was that the land in front of her was breathtaking. Everything around her was a variation of black, brown, or gray, making the slightest hints of green seem misplaced. The previously healthy trees that once surrounded the shelter had shed most of their leaves, adding to the dead underbrush below.

It was as if all the bones were still the same, but the forest had lost its skin, leaving a mess of ash, debris, and dirt in its wake.

A slow turn showed Clarke that a majority of the land around her shared the same eerie vibe, but somehow, Clarke couldn't stop herself from describing it as beautiful. She supposed staring at a wall for weeks could make anything besides it seem stunning.

"Lexa," spinning on her heels, Clarke peered back into the shelter underneath her, which suddenly seemed much darker, making her wonder how she sanely survived a month inside. She could faintly see Lexa stepping forward, staring upwards, squinting one eye to focus on the blonde above. "What are you waiting for?"

As if the words reminded the brunette of the situation, she shook her thoughts from her head and slung the crossbow's strap around her shoulder, sending Clarke a brief nod.

Lexa stopped climbing as soon as her head was peeking out from above the ground, taking a moment to trace over the vastly different forest than what she probably remembered. Noticing Lexa's hesitation, Clarke crouched down and held her hand out for the girl to take, trying not to flinch when the rough, calloused fingers wrapped around her own.

With little effort, Clarke assisted Lexa onto the ground, trying to contain the excitement that was spilling into the smile on her lips. Lexa didn't share the same enthusiasm, dropping Clarke's hand and starting forward down what used to be an obviously defined trail. Clarke wished she had someone around that could actually appreciate the amazing view surrounding them. Sadly, she just had Lexa, who didn't seem too impressed by the sights.

The brunette glanced between the low sun and her shadow on the ground, shielding the light from her eyes with her hand. "You're sure Arkadia is north?"

Clarke squeezed one eye shut and pictured a map in her mind, pinpointing the exact location that she believed to be Arkadia. "Positive." Truthfully, she wasn't positive, but decided that saying so would only add to Lexa's aversion towards the idea of leaving, and Lexa didn't need reason to back out of the plan just as it had started.

The brunette pushed a few stray hairs behind her ear and continued scanning her shadow on the ground, making minor adjustments in the direction she was facing, until she stopped and pointed a finger in front of her. "This way."

Clarke didn't understand-- nor did she want to ask-- how Lexa had known which direction was north without a compass, but she followed the girl anyway, still mesmerized by the sight in front of her. Nothing about the situation felt real. Not even the parts before the explosions. She would have pinched herself if she hadn't already done it every day for the last thirty days.

The singed trees seemed to stretch for miles, the lack of greenery only making the distance look longer. When the trees were previously full and bushy, the land had looked more like a forest, but without them, it was just endless stretches of blackened branches and trunks.

Lexa's pace slowed after the first hour, prompting Clarke to suggest a break, which Lexa refused at first, but eventually agreed to when her legs started to shake more with each step. A large rock offered a suitable place to sit for a while.

Clarke pulled the bag from her back and reached inside, taking out two mini water bottles and holding one out for Lexa to take. "You should drink before we keep walking." She offered, hoping the statement wouldn't irritate the brunette too much.

Thankfully, Lexa didn't protest, taking the bottle into her hand and unscrewing the cap. Clarke hadn't even realized she was staring until after Lexa took a sip and turned to glare at the blonde, confusion in her eyes. Hurriedly, Clarke ducked her head and opened her own beverage, swallowing large gulps of the water to cool the heat in her face. When she stopped, half of her water was already gone.

"We should eat, too." Clarke made sure to include herself in the suggestion, hinting to the fact that she was ready for a meal.

Lexa sighed and retrieved a package of crackers that Clarke recognized to be from her own stash of food and sat them beside the blonde before dipping her hand back in to get more. Surprisingly, Lexa's hand left the bag without any food, and instead held a familiar heap of scrap metal and wires.

While Clarke wanted to comment on Lexa's evasion of eating a meal, she suddenly felt more interested in what the radio had to say (and in the crackers she was about to eat).

The device buzzed to life, but remained mostly silent, only spewing its usual white noise, signaling that no one was currently speaking on the other side of it.

Clarke finished her snack while Lexa messed with the wires trailing from the radio, occasionally sipping the water bottle in her grasp. Clarke tucked the plastic wrapper in her pocket when it was empty and wiped her hands on her pants, clearing her throat quietly to get Lexa's attention.

"You ready to keep walking?" She asked when the brunette finally tore her eyes from the machine on her legs. A muttered confirmation came from the girl as she begrudgingly placed the radio back in its original place and zipped the backpack closed.

"You're sure you don't want to eat first?" Clarke pushed, repacking her own bag to prepare for the trek. Lexa simply shook her head, wrapping the straps of the bag around her shoulder and pushing to her feet.

It felt necessary for Clarke to add something about how Lexa needed to continue to drink, because she knew hydration was more important than eating, but she bit her tongue, anyway, deciding she had done enough doctoring for one day.

The blonde mirrored Lexa's actions, standing from the rock and brushing the crumbs off of her clothing.

The sun rested directly above them, at that point, providing a much needed break from the frigid air around them.

Clarke had long forgotten the feeling of the sun splaying across her skin, making the hairs on her arms stick up when the sun first started to peak through the tops of the bare trees.

The trail they walked didn't change with distance, still dark with occasional bursts of green poking through the debris. Mostly, Clarke kept her eyes at her feet, entranced by the puffs of ash that would cloud around them with each step. Because when she looked up, she only found reminders of what had happened just a month ago. And those reminders only led to thoughts about those she loved and whether or not they survived the disaster that was now outside.

Besides that, looking up made her catch sight of the weak brunette next to her, who seemed to walk slower and slower by the minute.

She tried not to think long on how much energy it looked like Lexa was using, or how much less she would be expending if she wasn't carrying her crossbow. Clarke had advised her to leave it in the shelter and refused to feel sympathy for Lexa, who had brought it anyway. But the offer to hold it for the brunette still hung from the tip of Clarke's tongue.

With the amount of breaks Lexa had to take, and the need to maneuver through various obstacles left behind from the bombs, they didn't make it out of the forest before night fell.

"We need to find somewhere to sleep." Lexa decided, before the sun had started to set. Clarke, who had a newly full stomach of canned corn, would have been able to walk for at least another hour, but agreed with the brunette when she remembered how sick the girl was.

Mutually, they agreed on a mostly flat area of fallen leaves to spread out a blanket across. Again, Clarke resisted the urge to push Lexa to eat a meal, but couldn't suppress the impulse far enough to stop her from breaking open a fruit cup at the sight of Lexa sipping her water.

"Drink this, instead." She shook the container in her hand, referring to the juice that the fruit was swimming in. When Lexa's face twisted in confusion, Clarke elaborated. "Electrolytes." The word only furthered the look. Mentally cursing herself for thinking that the girl would understand her medical terminology, she tried again. "The sugar. It'll give you more energy."

With that, Lexa's expression returned to its norm and she peeled back the plastic lid, mumbling something that Clarke imagined to be her thanks.

The brunette managed a full gulp of the syrup before setting the cup aside and leaning back on her hands, lips pursed as if opening them would be enough to send the fruit juice back up from her stomach. Clarke took the one gulp as a victory.

With nightfall came a chill that neither of the two had been prepared for. The shivering started almost immediately after sunset, and the only sound heard between the blonde and brunette was the sound of chattering teeth and heavy breathing.

Both girls had taken to sitting under the blanket on the ground, which was supposed to serve the purpose of a barrier between their bodies and the dirt beneath them, but after realizing their other covers wouldn't be enough, they decided that waking up covered in ash sounded a lot less terrible than hypothermia.

So they sat, each with their own blanket around themselves, until Lexa broke the silence.

"We should share our blankets." The words were said through gritted teeth, not out of malicious nature, but solely because the brunette's jaw was too busy chattering to open fully.

Clarke had already thought of the solution-- multiple times, in fact-- but kept it to herself, thinking Lexa would be too selfish to share. The offer made Clarke let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, which sent a white cloud of hot air into the space around them.

"I agree." Without hesitation, Clarke scooted closer, ignoring the unsure quickening of her heart's rhythm. Simultaneously, they unwrapped the blankets from their shoulders and unfolded them in the same fashion as the first blanket around their legs.

Lexa was the first to lay down, tucking herself under the blanket and only leaving her eyes and forehead exposed. Clarke followed next, facing away from Lexa, but mimicking the same form.

Immediately, Clarke could feel the difference; cold air was no longer seeping through the fabric, but still left her muscles stiff from her constant shaking.

At first the girls maintained a respectable distance, back to back, but eventually succumbing to the coldness, Clarke spoke up.

"I'm still too cold."

"I don't know what you want me to do about it. We're out of blankets and I don't control the weather." The reply was instantaneous, as if Lexa had been expecting the complaint. The retort was enough for Clarke to discern that if she wanted something done about the situation, she would have to do it herself.

Flipping over, Clarke pushed herself even closer to Lexa-- so close that the blonde could see the suddenly rapid pace Lexa's breathing had taken on. She would be lying if she said her own breaths didn't act the same. Tucking one hand under her face, Clarke reached the other over Lexa's stomach, pulling the brunette against her own body.

Lexa tensed at the sudden movement (and Clarke even heard the faintest gasp from under the blanket), but eventually relaxed, allowing her back to fall against Clarke's chest.

The blonde couldn't say the same about herself, because while the arm wrapped around Lexa was loose, the rest of her body was stiff from the apprehension, only softening when she heard Lexa's teeth fall still.

Clarke forced herself to think of the position as a necessity but part of her was burning with the idea that her arms were around Lexa, holding her so close that she could feel every steady breath against her stomach. Burning at the idea that their current state would be the new norm for nights, and that warmth was enough to quell her own shivering.

It felt somewhat selfish of her to think of the situation as anything besides a requisite (and she had yet to understand why the thought was even on her mind), but she decided it was too late-- and she was too tired-- to ponder any longer on the strange feeling she was experiencing.

Clarke was awake long enough to hear Lexa's breathing slow to a gentle snore.

(Staying awake was by her own actions, the blonde refusing to fall asleep until she was sure the brunette had, first.)

The quiet noise set her mind at ease and she focused on its pattern until it lulled her into a deep sleep of her own, which somehow felt more restful with Lexa against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aah! finally some clexa cuteness! apologies for breaking raven's heart, I know she's been through enough, but *insert alycia debnam-carey voice* there's a reason! 
> 
> Let me know whatcha think of this chapter! hopefully it brought a smile to your face! 
> 
> come party with me and my 15 followers on twitter @callieincali ! we have some good times!


End file.
